


Dangerous to Travel to Known Places

by mille_libri



Series: Kylon [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 101,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel Kylon and Judith Amell have defeated the Archdemon, so everything should be wine and roses - but is it? And now that the mages are free from the Chantry, why are they disappearing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Denerim

_Two weeks after the slaying of the Archdemon:_

When the grey of approaching dawn began to light the streets of Denerim, the city’s newly minted Arl was already awake, standing on his balcony and surveying his domain.

Daniel Kylon was Denerim born and Denerim bred, and he loved his city with everything he had—he felt incredibly privileged to be its ruler, to have its safety and comfort in his hands. But this morning he barely saw the rooftops and cobblestones. Today was his wedding day, and he could think of nothing but the beautiful mage who had consented to become his wife. Judith Amell, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden, had taken over his dreams from the moment he’d seen her face on a wanted poster, and he was still surprised and delighted that she had fallen in love with him as well.

A knock at the door broke into Kylon’s thoughts. He turned to see his valet, Alex, carefully putting down a tray of tea and scones. He shook his head when he saw Kylon already dressed. “Will Your Lordship never allow me to dress him?”

“Never,” Kylon said cheerfully. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Er … no,” said Alex uncomfortably.

“Let’s see if we can remedy that, shall we?” Kylon asked. He sympathized, but he’d been dressing himself his whole life. And as far as undressing was concerned, the only help he needed was Judith’s. His pulse raced just thinking about it. King Alistair had insisted—with a truly diabolical twinkle in his eyes—that he couldn’t perform the ceremony unless they kept their distance from each other in the weeks leading up to the wedding. Despite his excitement about the wedding, Kylon was literally aching to get through it and to the wedding night. He banished thoughts of Judith’s slender creamy legs wrapped around him with difficulty as Alex held out a plate with a buttery scone on it. 

“You really ought to eat something, ser,” Alex said when Kylon shook his head, pushing the scone away.

“Too nervous to eat,” Kylon said. 

Alex poured a cup of tea, added sugar, and held it out instead. 

Taking the cup, Kylon said, “Is there anything on the morning’s agenda that I should know about?”

The valet allowed a small smile to pass over his features. “I believe there is a rather important wedding to attend at noon, ser,” he said.

“Impudence,” Kylon said in mock annoyance, sipping his tea. “Before that.”

“Various citizens have called with wedding gifts. Sanga asked that hers be opened, er, privately.” Alex blushed, imagining what the city’s most powerful madam might have brought as a wedding gift.

Kylon grinned widely in anticipation. “Anything else?”

“No, ser.” Alex collected the tea things and disappeared. Kylon finished his tea and left the room. He was uncomfortable with the guard who fell in behind him—Kylon had walked the city unaccompanied for his whole life, and didn’t see why he suddenly needed a bodyguard. But no matter how many times he tried to convince everyone that he didn’t need guarding, the guard remained. 

“Let’s see what the city is up to this morning, shall we, Ivan?” Kylon said to the guard. “Unless, of course, you can think of something better to do with your time than follow me around.”

“After you, ser,” Ivan said, gesturing with one gauntleted hand. 

“It must be a difficult life,” Kylon remarked, “wandering about in armor, subject to the whims of a man who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.” Ivan ignored Kylon’s complaints, as always, and fell into step just behind him. Kylon shook his head in exasperation.

His spirits rose as they entered the Market District, his favorite part of Denerim. The sound of hammering rang out in nearly every street as the citizens busied themselves with repairing the buildings and streets damaged in the siege. The Market District was bustling. Kylon saw Ignacio and Cesar, the Antivan Crows, had put their stall back together again. Ignacio bowed to Kylon, who nodded in return. He didn’t much trust the two Crows, but they had fought bravely in the battle for the city, and it was always a wise idea to stay on their good side.

Kylon meandered through the tents filled with brightly colored wares, basking in the babble around him. Trade was brisk—every day another merchant or two returned to the city. In a fabric stall, Kylon stopped to finger a bolt of ice-blue silk, its delicacy reminding him of Judith. He stepped to the side to make room for a dark-haired young elven girl who was looking at the same fabric. It was a mark of the new Ferelden, which King Alistair and Queen Anora were trying to build on equality for all, that the elf was allowed in the Market District at all, and Kylon noticed that the proprietress, a large woman named Margery, was ignoring the elf completely. Instead, Margery bustled up to Kylon.

“Ser, what an honor it is to have you in my shop,” she simpered. 

“Glad to see you back, Margery. Took a bit of a vacation, did you?” He hadn’t seen her shop here since the Blight had started.

Margery flushed, but her smile stayed fixed. “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “The Anderfels are lovely this time of year.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said dryly.

“Uh, ser!” Margery called out as he turned to leave the stall. She snatched the bolt of blue silk out from under the elven girl’s nose and held it out to Kylon. “I’d be pleased if you’d take this. As a token of my respect.”

Kylon put up his hand to refuse—Judith wore armor mostly, anyway, she probably didn’t need a new dress—then his eye fell on the young elf’s crestfallen face. “Thank you, Margery,” he said, taking the silk. He turned to the elf. “Miss, I would be honored if you would accept this, with my compliments.”

Her eyes widened, and with a whispered thank you she took the bolt of silk in trembling fingers.

As the elf left the stall, Margery snorted. “And what would some knife-ears need with a bolt of my good silk?”

Mildly, Kylon said, “Perhaps, having so recently returned to the city, Margery, you’re not aware that elves are equal citizens now. It was one of King Alistair’s first acts.” His eyes met hers squarely, and he added, “Perhaps as word of your generous gift to that young elf gets around, you’ll have the inside track to a whole new fabric-buying population. Think on that carefully.” With a brusque nod, he stepped out of the stall, leaving Margery staring after him thoughtfully, her eyes taking on an avaricious gleam.

Kylon stopped at another stall, his eyes scanning bundles of exotic herbs. 

“Congratulations, guv,” said a voice.

Recognizing the voice immediately, Kylon knew better than to look for its owner. Rook was a long-time informant and a master of disguise. His information had been useful to Kylon many times over the years, but he was very secretive. Kylon wasn’t entirely sure what Rook looked like without one of his disguises. “Glad you made it through the Blight,” Kylon said quietly.

Rook snorted. “Take more than darkspawn, mate.”

“Any news?”

“Nothin’ solid. People seem right happy with you bein’ the Arl, an’ pleased with you marryin’ the mage.” Rook chuckled. “Looks a bit chilly, but I bet she warms right up under the covers, eh?”

Kylon cleared his throat sternly.

“Right. None o’ my business.” The grin was still obvious in his voice, though. “There’s some mutterin’s about the new way o’ things, with the mages free and all.”

That wasn’t too surprising, Kylon thought. The Chantry was highly upset that King Alistair had given the mages their freedom from the Templars’ oversight. The Grand Cleric had gone so far as to categorically refuse to perform Kylon and Judith’s wedding. Kylon had argued with her, but didn’t dare push her too far. He could only imagine what it would be like to try and run Denerim if he was at odds with the Grand Cleric. It would be hard enough as the husband of a mage. Still, if Rook thought it worth warning him about these mutterings, there was probably something there. “Keep me posted,” he said quietly to the informant, tossing a gold piece in the air.

“Righto, guv.” And Rook was gone, gold piece firmly in hand. 

“Ah, there you are,” purred a lilting Antivan voice at Kylon’s elbow. He turned to see the elf Zevran, former Crow assassin turned ally of the Grey Wardens. More than ally, these days—Zev and the Orlesian Warden Riordan were nigh inseparable. “I have been looking for you all over the city.”

“Aren’t your hands full already, Zev? I’d think Riordan is more than enough to keep you occupied.” Kylon grinned at the elf.

Zev’s eyebrows lifted, and then his lips curved in a sensual smile. “My dear Kylon,” he said, “any time you feel the need to broaden your horizons, you will find my hands more than up to the task.”

“I believe my wife-to-be has that particular job well and truly in hand,” Kylon said with an anticipatory gleam in his eyes.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Zev said, bowing deeply in his courtly fashion. “Now, all verbal fencing aside, I am bidden to bring you to the Palace, where the King is desirous of an audience.”

“Lead on, my friend.” Kylon studied the elf as they walked. Zev had a satisfied air about him these days, a sense of peace that was at odds with his usual roving eye and insatiable appetite. “How are things going between you and Riordan? Will you accompany him to Amaranthine, join the Wardens?”

“Join the Wardens? I think not,” Zev said. “It is not for everyone, is it?” 

“No.” Kylon walked alongside the elf in silence for a few moments. He and Judith had once discussed the possibility of him undergoing the Joining, but she hadn’t wanted him to take the risk, and he had felt his duty to Denerim was higher than any need Ferelden might have for new Wardens. “So what will you do?”

“I will visit Amaranthine, of course. But not too often.” Zev grinned. “One cannot have one’s charms become … commonplace, now, can one?”

“I suppose not.” Kylon thought of Judith in Amaranthine and himself in Denerim. While that kind of distance might be nice for someone like Zev, who didn’t want to be weighted down by commitments, Kylon thought it would be a challenging way to conduct a marriage. Still, better to be married to Judith than not married to her at all. He grinned in eager anticipation. In just a few short hours, he’d be married to the most enchanting woman in Thedas.

Inside the Palace, Alistair was waiting in the dining room, the remains of his breakfast in front of him. “Daniel, you don’t look nearly nervous enough,” he said, grinning. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Queen Anora looked up from the piece of toast she was buttering. “Alistair’s nervous enough for both of you,” she said with a warm smile at her husband. 

“What’s he got to be nervous about?”

“I’ve never performed a marriage ceremony before,” Alistair said plaintively. “You’re sure the Grand Cleric won’t change her mind?”

Remembering the old woman’s blazing eyes when he’d broached the topic, Kylon shook his head. “No. Definitely not.”

Alistair nodded, resigned. “I could hardly eat breakfast, I was so nervous.”

“That’s true,” Anora said. “He only had three helpings.” She grinned. The Grey Wardens’ appetites were prodigious, and Alistair’s was already becoming legendary.

“Where’s Judith?” Kylon asked.

“Alfstanna took her out to the training field,” Alistair said. Judith had become an arcane warrior, skilled in sword-fighting as well as in magic, during the Blight, and Teyrna Alfstanna of Gwaren was a talented warrior in her own right. Grinning, Alistair added, “I think Judith was thinking about running away if she had to sit through another wedding gown fitting.”

Kylon smiled weakly. It was a bit of a sore spot with him, Judith’s impatience with the frills and frou-frou of a grand wedding. He had thrown himself into the planning of the wedding whole-heartedly, expecting that Judith would be as enthusiastic as he was. But she hadn’t shared his vision of the big elaborate spectacle, and it was the one less-than-bright spot in this day, knowing she was so much less excited about the ceremony than he was. He kept trying to remind himself that as a mage she wouldn’t have grown up expecting to marry, so she wouldn’t have dreamed of it the way he had, but it still disappointed him that she hadn’t enjoyed picking out flowers and selecting color schemes with him. 

Anora put her napkin on her plate and stood up. “If you two will excuse me,” she said, “I think I’ll go retrieve your bride and try to wrestle her into her wedding gown.” She smiled at Kylon as she went past, and he reflected how much warmer and more at ease she seemed.

“Being married to you has been good for her,” he remarked to Alistair.

“I do my best,” Alistair said. “She deserves it.” His face darkened. “It’ll be a lot better when my father-in-law goes back to his farm.”

“When does he leave?” 

“Not soon enough,” Alistair growled. He had pardoned Loghain for Anora’s sake, but he still blamed the former teyrn for the deaths of the Grey Wardens and King Cailan at Ostagar. “One more sneer, and I’ll—“ He clenched his fist.

“Oh, now that I would pay good money for,” Zev said. Kylon jumped, having forgotten the elf was still in the room. It was uncanny, the way he just blended into the scenery, especially given his intrinsic flamboyance. “My king,” he said to Alistair, “I believe there is something you wanted to discuss the next time we were all in the same room together?”

Alistair flushed. “Yes, yes, of course,” he stammered. He checked the door to make sure there were no listening ears. “Zev, there’s something I’d like you to do.”

Kylon raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we were actually going to do this,” he said. 

“We’re not going to do anything,” Alistair protested. “Just … I want to know.”

“Know what?” Zev asked, mystified.

“I need you to find Morrigan,” Alistair said quickly. “Find her, and keep tabs on her for … oh, about nine months.”

“Nine … Ah,” Zev said as the significance of the number sank in. “May I ask—?” he began delicately.

“Yes,” Alistair growled. “Mine. But not—not what you’re thinking.”

“A magic ritual of some type performed just before the killing of the Archdemon?” Zev inquired.

“Oh. Then, yes, more or less what you’re thinking.” Alistair blushed. “How did you know?”

“You lovely innocent man,” Zev said fondly. “It was obvious she was along for a reason. And equally obvious that she got what she wanted. Otherwise, she would not have left.”

“She could have just wanted to help end the Blight,” Alistair said.

Zev just looked at him.

“No, I suppose you’re right.” Alistair sighed. “So can you do it?”

“Find and watch? That and more, should more be required.” 

“ _Just_ find and watch,” Alistair said. 

Zev bowed. “Consider me your humble servant,” he said. “And now, do you both not have a wedding to prepare for?”


	2. Pageantry

Judith waited just inside the Palace, nervous and uncomfortable in her bridal finery. 

“Hold still,” Alfstanna snapped through the pins in her mouth. “Let me get your hair back up.” They had tried to curl Judith’s stick-straight blonde hair and pin it up in an elaborate style, but it was straggling in wisps around her face.

“It’s never going to stay,” Judith said, but she stood still as she was told. At last Alfstanna was done sticking pins into the hairstyle. She stepped back, studying it. 

“It may last until the end of the ceremony,” she said doubtfully.

“On behalf of my hair, I apologize,” Judith said, and Alfstanna laughed, tugging at one of the braids in her own short hair.

“Well, it isn’t as though my own hair takes well to elaborate styling,” she said. “Sorry if I went a little crazy on yours.”

“Leliana would be pleased,” Judith said, and Alfstanna smiled sadly. 

“She would. I wish she was here.” Alfstanna and Leliana had shared a brief romance at the end of the Blight, while Leliana was recovering from seeing her former lover, Alistair, marry the Queen. Though Leliana had died in the battle with the Archdemon, her memory bound Alfstanna and Judith and Alistair together.

“Are we all ready for this wedding?” Wynne said, coming out into the doorway where they stood. Since the Grand Cleric wouldn’t allow the wedding to be performed in the Chantry, Alistair and Anora had offered the Palace gardens instead, and now the guests waited amidst the flowers for the ceremony to begin.

“Wynne, are you sure this is a good idea?” Judith asked. “Should we be … maybe we should wait, until the the mages are more established outside the Tower and the Grand Cleric isn’t so upset.”

Putting her hands on Judith’s shoulders, Wynne said, “My dear, you could wait the rest of your life and still not everyone would support you marrying, because you are a mage and memories are long. Especially when fear and mistrust rule them. Do you want to marry Daniel today?”

“Of course!” Judith’s heart beat faster just thinking about Daniel waiting out there for her.

“Then what does it matter what one old woman thinks? That is all the Grand Cleric is, you know—an old woman like so many others, clinging to the past and her petty power. Do not let that power run your life.”

Judith took a deep breath, feeling the butterflies in her stomach settle somewhat. “Thank you, Wynne,” she said. “I am glad it is you walking me down the aisle.” When asked who should give her away to Daniel, Judith’s answer had been immediate. Her birth parents, if they had survived the Blight, were far away in the little village in the Frostbacks. They’d been lost to her since the morning 6-year-old Judith had frozen the water in the kettle because she didn’t want porridge. The only parents she had known after that were the teachers in the Circle Tower, and of those, Wynne had been the one to see the free spirit inside the quiet little girl and to foster that sense of freedom and independence. 

“Then are you ready? These old bones of mine can’t wait forever,” Wynne said, squeezing Judith’s hand.

Judith nodded, taking a deep breath.

Alfstanna went first, walking slowly and decorously in her long gown. Judith smiled, watching her—Alfstanna, like Judith, was far more comfortable in armor. The slow pace was probably as much to do with not wanting to trip over the long gown as it was with any sense of the pageantry of the occasion.

And then it was Judith’s turn, and she took Wynne’s arm, stepping out into the garden where the bees were buzzing in the midday heat. The first few steps she watched her feet anxiously, so as not to step on her dress. Then she looked up, and her blue eyes met Daniel’s brown ones. He smiled at her, and they might as well have been alone for as much as Judith cared for the other people assembled. 

Looking into her eyes, Daniel thought he understood better her apparent indifference to the wedding plans. Judith—his brave Judith, slayer of dragons—was afraid. And desperately trying to hide that fear. He held her eyes with his all the way down the aisle, trying to transmit with his gaze his own confidence. As Wynne placed Judith’s small, cool hand into Daniel’s large, warm one, he closed his hand around hers, squeezing gently. She squeezed back, and her blue eyes warmed with her smile.

Alistair began speaking, flustered by the lack of the Chant of Light, such an expected part of any ceremony. Suddenly, from the back of the garden, a group of mages began to sing the Chant, their voices soft and pure in the still summer air. Slowly they were joined by other voices—he could detect the deep voice of Fergus Cousland and Riordan’s Orlesian-accented tenor. Even Anora, in the front row, was singing, her eyes bright as she smiled at him. Next to her, Loghain folded his arms, but a deep-voiced humming came from his direction, and Alistair had his suspicions. 

Daniel swallowed, emotion choking him. The lack of the Chant had bothered him, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it. This meant so much more than if the Chantry had actually been there, and he wished he could hug each and every person singing in the audience. Judith turned to smile at the mages. Some of them were as deeply Andrastean as anyone, and she was touched that they would put their blessing on her marriage this way. She looked back up at Daniel, suddenly understanding what all this pageantry symbolized to him. Her heart melted within her, witnessing his incredible vulnerability, and she wanted fiercely to protect him from anything that might tarnish that.

She didn’t hear Alistair’s words until Alfstanna nudged her. “What?” Judith asked, tearing her eyes away from Daniel’s at last. There was a general ripple of laughter, and Alistair’s brown eyes crinkled at her. Both orphans in many ways, the Blight had made them closer than most siblings, and Alistair used that closeness to tease her as unmercifully as any little brother.

“Welcome back to your wedding,” he said now, grinning widely. “You’re supposed to do something more than stare at your bridegroom, you know.”

There was another ripple of laughter. In the short time since he’d been crowned, Alistair had learned to play to the crowd.

“Right,” Judith said ruefully. “What do I say?”

Alistair laughed at that, then he told her. The ceremony went on from there, the words themselves gaining importance to Judith through the look in Daniel’s eyes when she said them to him. At last the ceremony was over. Alistair’s voice over her shoulder said solemnly, “You may kiss the bride.”

Daniel’s eyes lit up, and his arms slid around Judith, pulling her close to him, his mouth seeking hers. At the touch, a flame started in Judith’s blood. It was all she could do to remember that they had an audience—she longed to throw off their confining clothes and feel Daniel’s bare skin against hers. The kiss ended and Daniel rested his forehead against Judith’s, both of them taking a moment to try and slow their breathing, remembering that it was hours of reception yet before they could be alone together.

“Any minute now,” Alistair muttered, and they chuckled.

They turned to face the assembled group, a married couple at last. To applause and cheers, they walked down the aisle left open for them, and to Judith’s surprise, she felt a cool, tingling touch on her hot cheeks. Looking up, she saw that little snowflakes were falling from nowhere over them, called down by the mages to sprinkle on the bride and groom in place of the traditional rice. The murmurs of the assembled guests—some delighted, some shocked, some disturbed at the casual use of magic—filled the air as the pretty midsummer snowfall drifted down over them, and Judith’s eyes met Wynne’s, the two mages smiling at each other, each seeing in that day’s events a great step forward for others like them.


	3. Mages

When they entered the Palace, and before the wedding guests could come inside, Daniel lost no time. He swept Judith through the nearest door, pushing it closed and then pushing her up against it, his mouth plundering hers hungrily. Judith held on to him tightly, as frenzied as he was. She wrapped one leg around the back of his, desperately trying to press the growing heat in her smallclothes against him. Daniel reached down, hiking up her skirts. His hand was sliding over her bare thigh when someone knocked at the door. They froze. 

“Has anyone seen the bride and groom?” Alistair’s voice in the hallway was overly loud, his smirk nearly audible. “I wonder what might have become of them …”

“We’re … um, freshening up,” Judith said, gasping as Daniel’s hand began to rub across the wet seat of her smallclothes. “It might … um, be a minute.” She barely swallowed her gasp as Daniel’s fingers slid underneath the fabric, his touch maddeningly light and delicate. Judith arched, straining to shift those fingers where she needed his touch. 

“Don’t take too long,” Alistair said, “or I might eat all the food.”

Food? Judith thought hazily, her head lolling against the door as Daniel’s fingers found her entrance and slid inside, his thumb working over her center. She thrust against him, moaning quietly, as he bit and licked her neck. Who needed food? She shuddered, the pleasure washing over her.

There was more noise in the hallway outside, but they both ignored it as Judith turned Daniel around until his back was against the door. She opened his pants, her hand sliding over his length caressingly. He bit his lip, his eyes closing. Judith knelt, taking him in her mouth, her tongue tracing patterns on the silky skin as she sucked. Ever the gentleman, Daniel managed to keep his hands out of her elaborately styled hair, bracing them instead against the wall behind him as he pushed himself farther down her throat. With a stifled groan, he peaked, his body jerking convulsively.

As Judith stood up, Daniel took her in his arms. “Feel better now?” he whispered in her ear.

She shivered. “That’ll tide me over for a few hours … as long as you don’t keep doing that,” she gasped as he nibbled on her earlobe.

“Sorry. Carried away,” he said, grinning.

“We should probably get to the reception,” Judith said.

“I suppose. You think anyone would really notice if we bypassed it and went straight to the bedroom?”

“Since the bedroom is across Denerim, I’m going with yes.” 

Daniel groaned. “Whose idea was that?”

“Alistair’s. He’s the one who made you Arl, after all.”

“Blame Alistair. That works for me.” They both giggled, disentangling from each other and trying to put their clothes back in order.

A few minutes later, they appeared at the doorway of the palace’s grand hall. Alistair caught sight of them, grinning widely as he stood up, banging a spoon against his mug of ale. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Daniel and Judith Kylon!”

The guests all turned toward the couple and clapped as they walked into the room. Daniel squeezed Judith’s hand, overwhelmed with pride. They made their way through the crowd to the big table at the top of the room, taking their seats next to the King and Queen. Plates appeared in front of them—modest portions of simple food. The blighted lands had produced only a small harvest, and Daniel and Judith refused to begin their Arlhoods consuming a lavish feast, when the food would be needed more by their people. Daniel dug into his mashed potatoes, remembering as the food hit his stomach that he hadn’t eaten all day. Or yesterday, come to think of it. He was heartily glad he never had to get married again—it was entirely too stressful!

When the meal was over, the musicians came in. They got settled in their corner, then began a slow, sweet melody. Daniel stood up, holding his hand out to his bride, leading her out onto the floor. He took her gently into his arms, moving to the music. 

“You ready to take a few days off?” he asked. They’d been so busy rebuilding Denerim, Judith preparing to move to the Grey Wardens’ new headquarters in Amaranthine, tracking down the last vestiges of darkspawn in the city, that they’d had precious little time together over the weeks since the Archdemon’s defeat. Both of them had agreed that once they were married, they’d take a few days just to be together, start their marriage off right.

“I’m not sure I remember how,” Judith said. She smiled lazily up at him. “You’ll just have to keep me so distracted I forget all the things I have to do.”

“Gladly,” he said, his brown eyes warming. “I plan to keep you as far from your clothes as possible.” 

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” she purred. She pulled his head down to hers for a long kiss. 

They probably would have stood there in the middle of the dance floor, kissing, for a lot longer if there hadn’t been a rumble of laughter through the room. Raising his head, Daniel realized that the music had stopped at some point. He caught Zev’s eye, and the Antivan winked at him. Daniel flushed red, glad when the musicians struck up a lively country dance and other people began moving onto the dance floor. He led Judith off, wondering how long they had to stay. All he really wanted was to be alone with her.

“Grey Warden!” A woman with blond hair and an almost comically thick Orlesian accent launched herself at Judith, who hastily plastered on a smile.

“Lady Isolde!” she said. “How nice to see you.”

“Grey Warden, I cannot thank you enough. Do you know,” she said, turning limpid blue eyes on Daniel, “that your wife saved my life? Oh, yes,” she went on, as though this was something unusual. “She brought my Connor back from the Fade and helped him get settled in at the Circle.” Isolde turned back to Judith. “Do you think, now that the Circle is free, that Connor can come home?”

Judith shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think that will depend on the First Enchanter.” Her eyes were serious as she focused them on Isolde. “A mage as young as Connor has much to learn. It is not just the Chantry’s laws that have caused us to bring young mages to the Tower. As you know better than most, Isolde, a young and untrained mage can hurt a large number of people.” Judith’s voice took on a hard edge. “How do you think the people of Redcliffe would feel if Connor was back amongst them?”

“Ah, Isolde, there you are.” Arl Eamon approached the two women, hastily taking his wife’s arm. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”

Isolde pouted. “Eamon, the Grey Warden does not think Connor should come home. Tell her they must let him, Eamon!”

“I think we should listen to her, Isolde. Arlessa Judith is a mage herself, after all,” he said. He looked at Judith. “I must thank you again for everything you have done for my family.”

Judith nodded her head cordially.

Eamon sighed. “Tomorrow we will be leaving for Redcliffe. There is much to do there.” He cast a wistful glance at the head table, where his brother Teagan, now Chancellor, was laughing with Alistair. “I believe my work here is done.”

“I hope we will see you in Denerim again soon, my lord,” Kylon said, bowing.

“Perhaps,” Eamon said, smiling slightly at the bridegroom. The Arl looked suddenly old and tired, as though he recognized that Ferelden was entering a new era that he did not understand. “I think some peace and quiet in my own village may be just what’s called for. Come along, my dear,” he said to Isolde, whose rebellious pout hinted that she wasn’t so excited about peace and quiet.

Judith watched them go. “If I had my way, that woman would never go near her son again,” she said venomously. “Her selfishness and lack of understanding are a better argument for the old ways than any Chantry zealot could come up with.”

“You think the First Enchanter will let Connor go home?”

“I doubt it,” Judith said, “but let’s ask him, shall we?” She led him over to the corner, where Irving and a few of the mages sat chatting. All of them got up, grinning broadly, to hug Judith.

“How’s it feel to be out of the Tower?” Judith asked.

A brown-haired mage said nervously, “I feel like they’re all watching me.”

Irving put his hand on the mage’s arm. “Now, Godwin. We’ve been over this. No one’s watching you.”

“Still, I’d feel better if there were more walls,” Godwin said, looking around the large room. 

“That’s Godwin all over the place,” said another mage, a dark-haired elf whose loveliness was obvious even in the shapeless mage robes. “Always looking a gift horse in the mouth. Personally, I never want to see another wall again.” She tossed her long hair.

“Careful, Stana,” Judith said, “you might get more than you bargained for.” She grinned affectionately at the elf. 

“Bring it on,” Stana said. 

A third mage, tall and black-haired, stood quietly behind Irving, watching the proceedings but not seeming part of them. Judith nudged Irving. “What’s going on with Klaus?”

“He misses the children,” Irving said. “I don’t believe Klaus is overly excited about leaving the Tower. Teaching is what he loves.”

“Speaking of children,” Judith said. “How is Connor settling in?”

“Well enough,” Irving said. A shadow passed over his face. “His connection to the Fade is strong. He will need to be extremely careful, and to learn a great deal of control.”

“We will see that he learns what he needs to,” Klaus said suddenly. “Do not be concerned.”

“Thank you, Klaus.” Judith smiled gently up at him. “Have you met Daniel?”

Daniel said hello to the tall mage, who nodded gravely. 

Irving’s eyes lit up. “Imagine how much more we can teach, now that the Templars won’t be looking over our shoulders every minute.”

“Remember, Irving, Alistair can only do so much. The level of supervision we’re forced to accept depends largely on what we do with the space we’re given,” Judith said seriously.

“Of course,” Irving said quickly. “Now you and your husband should get back to the rest of your guests.” He motioned to the other mages. “Godwin and Klaus will be returning to the Circle with me soon. There is much still to be done there, cleansing the Tower of everything that occurred because of Uldred and his ilk.”

“I wish I could be there to help,” Judith said. Grief struck at her as she remembered what it had been like to fight her way through her former home, striking out at abominations that had been her friends. 

“You have done more than enough,” Irving said. “The Circle of Magi owes you a very great debt.”

“Travel safely, Irving,” Judith said, still feeling the heavy pall of her sorrow hanging over her. With an exchange of embraces with Irving and the rest of the mages, she allowed Daniel to lead her away. They paused for a moment while Judith collected herself. Daniel took a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant, handing it to her. Judith sipped the wine, feeling its warmth ease some of the sadness.

“Are you all right?” Daniel asked softly.

“Yes,” she said. “It was just … remembering what happened at the Circle, I—“ She shivered, and Daniel gathered her into his arms, holding her close. She clung to him, his warmth more comforting by far than that of the wine, realizing all over again what an incredible gift his understanding and support were. “I love you,” she said, turning her face up to his.

He smiled. “I love you, too.”


	4. Alistair

As Daniel and Judith stood embracing, they were nearly knocked over by an overenthusiastic couple sweeping off the dance floor. Judith stumbled, barely catching herself on the nearest table.

Oghren cackled with laughter, his arm tightly around Shianni’s waist. “Had a little too much, there, Warden? Weddin’s’ll do that to ya. I don’ even remember marryin’ Branka.”

“I’d have blocked that out, too,” Judith murmured to Daniel.

Shianni looked at Judith over Oghren’s head. “Warden, er … Arlessa?”

“What is it, Shianni?” Judith surveyed the red-headed elf, noticing that Shianni seemed remarkably sober. Of course, next to Oghren anyone seemed sober, but Shianni looked downright serious. 

“I was wondering … when are you planning to leave for Amaranthine?”

“Not for several days yet.” Judith smiled at Daniel. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we’re comin’ with ya!” Oghren announced, swinging his ale mug in the air, the liquid hissing as it slopped onto the floor.

“You’re what?”

“Coming with you,” Shianni said. She looked at Oghren, and then back at Judith. “What else are we going to do?”

“I thought you were going to be representing the Alienage on the Council,” Daniel put in.

Shianni flushed. “Not my style. Can you imagine me sitting in a stuffy meeting? No, that’s Soris’s gig, not mine.” She nodded at her cousin, who was looking uncomfortable standing against the wall. “He knows how to be respectful and keep his mouth shut.”

Judith gave Shianni her best commander look. “If you want to be a Grey Warden, Shianni, you’ll have to follow orders. And keep your mouth shut when told to.”

“I’ll try my best, Commander. Arlessa. Warden?”

“Call me Commander, recruit. Be ready when I call for you. Oghren?”

He belched deeply. 

“Try not to corrupt her too badly, will you?”

“Oh, sure, Commander. Lookin’ forward to joinin’ up!”

“I’ll be, um, glad to have you.” Judith shook her head as the oddly well-matched couple danced away. “Oghren and Shianni as Grey Wardens. Well, Amaranthine won’t be boring.”

“Better you than me,” Daniel said. He grinned. “A few more of Oghren’s drunken debauches and I wouldn’t have a city left.”

“Still,” Judith said, “I’m not sorry to have him coming along. It’ll feel more like … old times, I guess, to have at least one of my Blight companions along. I thought it was going to be just me and Sam.” The mabari was stabled in the kennels at Daniel’s. Instructions had been left to give Sam an extra portion of dinner tonight, so he could celebrate, too. Looking around the room, Judith acknowledged that she actually missed seeing Sten glowering in the background. The qunari had been on his way back to his homeland before Judith had recovered from killing the Archdemon. 

Morrigan had left, as well, as soon as the Archdemon was dead. Judith had grown to respect the apostate over the months they’d traveled together, despite their fundamental disagreement about the Circle. You can’t fight next to someone for so long and not find yourself attached to them, Judith reflected, and it rankled that Morrigan hadn’t bothered to say good-bye. Of course, she’d left with a bellyful of Alistair’s bastard, mingled with the Old God’s essence, so Judith supposed that was reason enough to disappear at the first opportunity. She sighed impatiently, not wanting to worry about Morrigan or her dark rituals on this joyous day.

“All right?” Daniel asked, his arm tightening around her waist.

“Fine. Just … thinking.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he murmured, kissing her. Slow fire burned through her veins, and the crowd of people that had seemed so loud a moment ago might as well not have been there. Pulling back, Daniel asked breathlessly, “How’s the thinking now?”

“Thinking what?” she asked dazedly. 

He laughed. “How long do you think we have to stay?”

“Let’s see. We came, we ate, we danced. I think we’re good.”

“Agreed.” Daniel took her by the hand, leading her toward the door. But they didn’t get far before they were accosted by Teagan, his smile a bit too wide and his cheeks flushed with wine. 

“Surely you’re not leaving already,” he said, grinning. “The bride has only danced once. That simply can’t be allowed.”

Judith smiled. “I suppose not,” she said. She looked at Daniel, who shrugged, then she took Teagan’s hand, allowing him to sweep her out onto the dance floor. 

“So, Teagan, how does it feel to be Chancellor of the kingdom?” Judith asked.

Some of the alcoholic glaze left his eyes. “You mean, instead of being passed over and left behind and discounted because I’m the youngest of the Guerrins?”

“Exactly so.”

“It feels like freedom. And victory!” He twirled her around exuberantly.

“You were surprised, then, I take it, by the selection.”

“Not as surprised as Eamon.” He chuckled. 

“I thought it was a smart move,” Judith said. 

“Oh, very true.” Teagan’s eyes glinted with humor. “And not just because I like to push my own self-interest. Eamon would never have seen Alistair as anything other than the dirty boy in the stables. Maric’s filthy little secret. But I saw him—and you—in action. I think he’s a fine man, and can be a fine king, with a bit of polishing. And polish,” he spun Judith out and back, then dipped her in a fluid motion, “is what I excel at.”

Judith laughed. “So I see.”

Teagan straightened up, helping Judith regain her feet. “Now, if you know any other lovely mages—or other types of ladies—who might be interested in a dashing Chancellor, do please send them my way.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Teagan bowed low over Judith’s hand, and then disappeared into the crowd. He was chasing an elven servant with a tray full of wine glasses, Judith noted, wondering if his true goal was the girl or the grape. She turned to look for Daniel. Finally she saw his red head bending down while a dark-haired woman whispered something into his ear. It looked remarkably intimate, and Judith was surprised to feel a smoldering coal of possessiveness burning inside her. She made her way purposefully through the crowd.

As Judith had danced off with Teagan, Daniel had been almost immediately accosted by Ignacio, the Antivan Crow and Denerim merchant. “My dear Arl,” Ignacio said, sounding reminiscent of Zev. “Have we adequately congratulated you on your ascension into the ranks of nobility?”

“If you mean the cases of Antivan imports,” Daniel said, thinking of the fine wines that had been inside those cases, “I would say more than adequately. My thanks.”

“It was our pleasure,” Ignacio said, nodding in the direction of his partner, Cesar. “We like to make sure our friends are happy with us.”

“Your efforts during the siege were more than enough,” Daniel said seriously. “You and Cesar proved yourselves to be formidable fighters as well as fine merchants. Denerim owes you a debt.”

Ignacio’s eyes lit up. “A debt?” he echoed. “Would that be an official debt?”

“Note well that what I mean is a personal debt. To you, and to Cesar. Not to the Crows.” Daniel’s eyes hardened, and he held up a hand as Ignacio began to speak. “And yes, I suspect there is a difference. Your interests may not always be the same as those of the Crows. Please be aware that any attempt to use whatever good will you have with me to further the agendas of the Crows will cause you to become most unpopular in the Denerim marketplace.”

“Message received,” Ignacio said. He said quietly, “It may interest you to know that you, also, have stored some good will. No contracts will be accepted in Denerim with your name on them. Or the names of those who ended the Blight. Some things are sacred.”

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Daniel responded, just as quietly.

Ignacio flashed him a grin, and disappeared into the crowd. Shortly afterward, the dulcet tones of Sanga, the city’s most notorious madam, sounded in Daniel’s ear. “Arl of Denerim,” she said teasingly. “I hope you will not forget old friends in your new finery.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Daniel said, grinning at her. “Not old friends … or old laws.”

Sanga pouted. “Now, is that nice? And after I sent you such a nice wedding gift. Have you opened it yet?” she asked, her eyes dancing mischievously.

“We’ve been here, Sanga. When would we have opened such a private gift?” he asked. He leaned closer so he could hear her better. But whatever she said was forgotten as he felt cool lips nibbling at the back of his neck. He spun around, startled and aroused, to see Judith standing there looking challenging. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink. Daniel’s eyes widened in surprised pleasure as he realized that Judith was jealous. Of Sanga, which was completely ridiculous. He grinned at his bride. “Ah, there you are. How was your dance?”

“Short,” she said, still staring at Sanga.

“Arlessa, you must not be jealous,” Sanga purred. “Your bridegroom used to refuse me even before he had such a lovely reason to do so. He is a true romantic,” she said, patting Daniel’s cheek. He reddened, suddenly feeling about twelve years old.

“Indeed,” Judith said. She took his arm, leaning in close to him. He could feel her breasts pressed against his arm, and no longer felt twelve. 

“I will leave you to your escape, then,” Sanga said, winking at both of them. She disappeared into the crowd. Daniel wondered how many employees she had seeded the party with. At least, he thought philosophically, his wedding could do something for Denerim’s economy. He turned to his beautiful wife.

“You weren’t jealous, were you?” he murmured into her ear, his lips softly brushing the sensitive shell.

Judith shivered. “Maybe a little.” She clung tighter to his arm. “Mine.”

He grinned. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about that. Shall we depart so you can … officially claim ownership?”

Judith had a hard time speaking with his tongue tracing the outside of her ear. She nodded, pulling him toward the door. But before they could make their escape from the reception, they were stopped again, this time by Alfstanna and Fergus Cousland. 

“Leaving so soon?” Alfstanna asked, grinning. 

“We were trying to,” Judith said, glowering at her friend.

“It’s just not done, you know,” Fergus offered quietly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “The bride and groom have to stay at least until someone passes out.”

“Or throws up,” Alfstanna added.

“You mean Oghren hasn’t taken care of both of those already?” Daniel asked.

“He must be slipping,” Judith said. She looked back at Alfstanna. “How long are you staying in town?”

“I’m hoping to be on my way soon, get to Gwaren and start settling in. I’m not sure the roads are safe yet, though.”

“And you, Fergus?” Daniel asked. 

“I … don’t know,” Fergus said, a shadow passing over his face. “I can’t bear to see Highever Castle the way it is. And I can’t ask others to clear it out without going through myself to see if any of my family’s belongings survived. I’m not sure I’m ready to face that yet.” He smiled awkwardly. “That’s hardly wedding talk. I—I’ll be around town, Daniel, if there’s anything you need.” He nodded to Judith, then moved slowly through the crowd toward the door. Alfstanna watched him go.

“It’s awful, seeing him like this. The Couslands were such joyous people, and such a close-knit family,” she said. “I wish I could help him.”

“I think it just takes time,” Daniel said. 

“I hope so,” Alfstanna said. “I miss the Fergus I grew up with.” She hugged Judith. “I’ll check in with you before I leave for Gwaren, my friend.”

“Thanks for all your help today,” Judith said. Alfstanna nodded brightly and disappeared into the crowd. Judith took Daniel’s arm. “One more stop, and then we can go,” she said. 

“Only one?” He raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t I believe that? I seem to have married the most popular woman in Thedas.” He smiled over Judith’s shoulder at Wynne.

“’Hero of Ferelden’ didn’t make that obvious?” Wynne asked, putting her arm around Judith’s shoulders. “You see, my dear? It went very well today.”

“It did. Thanks to you!” Judith said warmly. She looked at Daniel. “Wynne cured a last-minute case of wedding jitters.”

“You were nervous about marrying me?” he asked, and she could see a flash of hurt in his eyes.

“No!” Judith put a hand on his arm. “Just about the whole thing with the Grand Cleric.”

The tension eased from his shoulders. “I get that.” He smiled at the older mage. “Thanks, Wynne.”

“It was my pleasure.” Wynne looked seriously at Daniel. “I have continued my search for information related to your sister, but there is no mention of her after she destroyed her phylactery.”

“Does that mean the Templars never caught her?” he asked hopefully. His sister Melanie had been taken to the Circle at age twelve, and his family hadn’t heard of her since. 

“It could. Or it could mean that they caught her and didn’t bother to record it.” Wynne’s face twisted. “It’s hard to say.”

“Did she escape alone?” Judith asked curiously. 

“No.” Wynne smiled suddenly. “She took an apprentice with her. He was caught and brought back after they’d been separated.” She looked at Judith, her eyes twinkling. “The charming scamp has a way with women that has helped him escape more than once.”

“Anders?!” Judith said, her eyebrows flying up.

“Oh, yes, the very one.” Both women chuckled.

“Your sister has good taste,” Judith said to Daniel. “Anders is … well, he’s Zev in mage robes. But he looks kind of like Alistair.”

“Actually, that’s true,” Wynne said in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Who looks like me?” Alistair had come up behind them, Anora on his arm. Loghain trailed behind them.

Wynne turned, smiling at the King affectionately. “A young mage who does not like to be locked up.”

“Where is he now?”

“An excellent question,” Wynne said. “His last escape was apparently a successful one. He hasn’t been seen since before Ostagar.”

The mention of the battle stilled the conversation, and Loghain harrumphed, crossing his arms. “If you glare at me every time Ostagar is mentioned, Alistair—“

“Glaring is what keeps me from killing you every time Ostagar is mentioned,” Alistair said venomously.

“Alistair.” Anora’s hand tightened on his arm.

Alistair looked at his wife and sighed. “Sorry, love.” 

“So, Wynne,” Daniel said, trying to change the subject, “what are you up to now? Will you go back to the Tower and help bring the mages into their new age?”

She laughed. “I think not. I have trained and taught mages for more years than most of you have lived. Now it is time for me to take what time is left to me and explore. There are many places I have not seen and many things I have not done. I look forward to them all.” Her eyes sparkled at the thought of the adventures awaiting her.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Judith asked, concerned for her teacher. “What if … something happens to you?”

Wynne shrugged. “What if I trip and fall down the stairs in the Tower?” 

“Good point,” Judith acknowledged.

“And now, my children, it has been a long—and lovely—day, and these old bones need their rest.” Wynne hugged them all and headed for bed.

When she was gone, there was a brief silence. Then Alistair said, “Daniel, you’re not running off to Amaranthine with your wife, are you?”

“No,” Daniel said, a bit wistfully. “I would like to, but there’s a lot to be done here. Don’t you agree, Your Majesty?”

Alistair grinned. “I agree, and I’d have chased you down if you tried to leave. I’m going to need your help here.” 

“And you, my dear, what will you be doing?” Loghain asked Anora.

“I have much to do, Father. I’ll be helping clean up the Alienage, setting up a school for the elves, helping Daniel get Denerim’s economy back on its feet again.”

“Is that code for ‘the palace needs to be redecorated’, my queen?” Daniel asked. Anora smiled happily at him.

“Perhaps it is,” she said. 

“No time to visit the old man on the family farm, then?” Loghain said. His voice had its usual sardonic overtone, but the sincerity of the request was there for everyone to hear.

“Of course, Father. As soon as I can be spared,” she assured him. Suddenly she yawned, making it look almost realistic, and turned to Alistair. “I’m quite tired, I find. Shall we retire?”

He grinned widely at her. “Your desire is my command,” he purred, glancing at Loghain for the older man’s reaction.

Loghain watched as the King and Queen took their leave. His lip curled in disgust. “Cailan made her happy in bed, too,” he said under his breath. “Her and everyone else.”

“Alistair isn’t like that,” Judith said. “He keeps his promises.”

Snorting, Loghain said, “I’ll believe that when I see it,” and stalked off.

“Anyone else likely to pop up and keep us from leaving?” Daniel asked plaintively.

“Ask and I shall appear.”

Daniel jumped as the elf appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. “Zev, will you stop doing that?”

“Not as long as it makes you flush so delightfully, no,” Zev grinned. Riordan appeared next to him, throwing an arm around the elf’s shoulder. Judith noticed with some surprise that Zev actually leaned into her fellow Warden’s touch, resting against him casually.

Riordan nodded at Judith. “Commander, is it my understanding that we will be leaving in a few days?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re coming with me, Riordan.”

“As am I. There is much to do there, I believe. I have heard from Orlais; several other Wardens have been sent to get the castle ready. It should be comfortable when we arrive.” He smiled. “It will be nice to have a home to settle into. Will it not?” he said, tugging one of Zev’s braids.

“If you insist, my Warden,” Zev said. The two men smiled at each other.

“You’re coming, too, Zev?” Judith asked with pleased surprise.

“Sometimes. I cannot see myself … settling in, as Riordan says, but I will be a frequent visitor. Besides, I do not know if our lovely Arl here and King Alistair the Innocent will be able to do without me.”

Daniel grinned. “Of course not, Zev. You’re indispensable.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Zev said. Riordan’s arm tightened around him, and the dark-haired Warden whispered something into Zev’s ear. Zev turned, his mouth seeking Riordan’s, and the two men shared a passionate kiss.

Judith tugged on Daniel’s sleeve. “Quick,” she whispered, “let’s get out of here before anyone else wants to talk to us.”

“What was it Alistair said? ‘Your desire is my command’?” Daniel winked at her. Hand in hand, they made a hasty exit from the room.


	5. Consummation

The Arl of Denerim’s estate was brightly lit, with a banner of flowers placed above the door. All the servants were there, waiting, as Daniel and Judith entered, several of the maids yawning as though they’d been dragged out of bed to meet the Arlessa. 

Alex, the valet, stepped forward. “Sers,” he said, bowing.

Daniel shook his head. He would never get used to all this. “Alex, you can send everyone back to bed,” he said, smiling at the youngest maid, who was just closing her mouth after a huge yawn. “The Arlessa can meet them just as easily tomorrow, or the day after that.”

“Yes, ser,” Alex said. He turned to dismiss the servants, then looked back at Kylon. “Surely the Arlessa’s maid will be required.”

“No,” growled Daniel, “and neither will you. I don’t know what nobles are supposed to do on their wedding nights, but I don’t think we’ll need any chaperones at ours.”

Alex’s mouth quirked slightly, and he nodded. “Yes, ser.”

Daniel turned to Ivan, who had trailed them all the way from the Palace. “That’ll be all for you tonight, as well, Ivan.” 

“I’ll be outside the door, ser.” 

“No, you will not be outside the door.” Daniel was a patient man, a nice man, but he was at the end of his rope with all these servants. He took a deep breath. “How about this, Ivan. You go get yourself a good night’s rest, and I can promise that my wife and I will not be leaving our room until you’re there to guard us. No matter how long it takes you,” he said, grinning at Judith.

“If you insist, ser.”

“I consider it a personal favor,” Daniel assured his guard. He took Judith’s hand, leading her toward the stairs. “Good-night all,” he called over his shoulder, listening to the murmurings as the servants dispersed back to their own beds. “I really don’t know how I’ll ever get used to this,” he murmured to Judith.

Judith smiled. “They’re going to take terrible advantage of you if you keep letting them think they’re doing you a favor by doing what you want.”

He shrugged. “They won’t listen when I give them a direct order, so I’ll try letting them think they’re indulging my eccentricities for a while. Maybe it’ll work. Meanwhile,” he said, stopping in front of the door to their suite, “I’m not that interested in the servants right now.” He pushed the door open, then turned, lifting Judith in his arms.

“What in Thedas are you doing?” she asked, tucking her head into his shoulder.

“Carrying you across the threshold,” he said. “It’s an old custom.”

“Why?”

Daniel shook his head, grinning at her, as he put her down next to their bed. “I don’t know. Can’t it just be an old romantic custom without knowing why we do it?”

“I suppose,” she said. She didn’t much care in the first place—all she cared about right now was that they were finally alone together. “Can we get this off now?” she asked, gesturing to her dress.

“Allow me,” Daniel whispered. He started with her hair, his hands gently seeking and removing each pin. Judith shook her head, her blonde locks falling around her shoulders. She sighed in relief to have the weight of the elaborate hairstyle gone. Daniel’s hands cupped her face, and he kissed her, his lips teasing hers until she mewled low in her throat, pressing herself eagerly against him. He groaned, his hands sliding around her back to hold her close, and his tongue slid between her parted lips to touch hers. Judith twined her hands in his red hair, losing herself in the taste and feel of him. They kissed for a long time, their hands moving restlessly over each other’s body.

At last Daniel broke the kiss. Breathing heavily, he turned Judith around, his hands gently seeking the intricate ties at the back of her dress.

“Just rip it off,” she panted. “I don’t care.”

His hands paused in their task. “But it’s your wedding dress. Don’t you want to keep it?”

“For what?” Judith looked at him curiously over her shoulder.

“Women do,” Daniel said, returning to the untying process. Of course, there wouldn’t be any lovely blonde daughter to dream of wearing her mother’s wedding dress. Judith being a Grey Warden put an end to that fantasy before it was even fully formed in his mind. He wondered what Judith thought of not being able to have children. It wasn’t something they’d ever had the chance to talk about. But now wasn’t the time, he thought as the untied dress parted, exposing Judith’s delicate white skin. He caught his breath, leaning forward to nibble on her shoulder, pushing the sleeves off her shoulders and down her arms. His mouth followed the dress down over the long column of her back, kissing and licking, until he found a spot on the small of her back that made her cry out, standing up on her toes. 

“Daniel,” she begged. “Please, Daniel!”

He stood up, pushing her smallclothes down, and lifted her out of them and the dress. Then he laid her on the bed. Daniel sat next to her, bending to kiss her long and slow, his hands cupping and stroking her breasts. He sat back, looking at her, his hands caressing her stomach and the tops of her thighs. 

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed. “I am the luckiest man in Thedas.”

Judith sat up, putting her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheeks and his forehead and finally his mouth. “I’m the lucky one,” she said. “I never imagined meeting anyone like you, much less this dream of getting married and spending the rest of my life with you.”

He brushed her hair back, his fingertips tracing the line of her jaw. “It’s no dream. This is our life, you and me together.”

Kissing him, she lay back on the bed, pulling him over with her. Daniel’s hands stroked her sides, drifting down to caress her leg, his fingers moving slowly up the inside of her thigh to find the wetness there. Judith arched up, gasping, her hands reaching over her shoulders to clutch at the pillowcase, her hips rising off the bed, as he found her entrance, his fingers sliding in and out. She moaned, her hips freezing, as his thumb found that sensitive spot, and she spasmed sharply, crying out.

As Judith’s hips sank back onto the mattress, Daniel stood up, hastily stripping off his clothes. Judith took him into her arms. Their mouths met as she guided his length inside her, one leg wrapping around his hips as he began to move. She threw her head back, moaning, and Daniel kissed her throat, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin under her ear. They found their rhythm, waves of pleasure washing over them, until Judith cried out, her leg tightening around him. Daniel gave a final deep thrust, shuddering against her.

They lay together, warm and limp, tangled in each other’s arms. “I love you, Judith Amell,” Daniel murmured sleepily. A strand of her hair tickled his face and he tucked it behind her ear, kissing her temple. 

“Judith Kylon,” she corrected. She snuggled closer as he smiled against her hair, and they fell asleep holding each other close.


	6. Family

Daniel sat up in the bed, feeling disoriented. He could have sworn he’d gotten married yesterday … so why was his bed empty this morning? He shook his head muzzily, sleep still clinging to him.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead!” Judith said. She was wrapped in a dressing gown, sitting at Daniel’s desk with a quill in her hand.

“Oh, there you are,” he said, yawning widely. “Why are you up?”

“I’ve been up for hours,” Judith said, as though this was perfectly normal after a wedding night. 

Daniel groaned. “Come here.” She got up from the table, coming over to the bed. “This is more like it,” he said as she snuggled up to him. After a few minutes, he asked, “What were you writing?”

“Just making a list of things I want to take to Amaranthine,” she said. “I woke up and it was all stuck in my head, so I thought I might as well get up and write it down.”

“I’m lucky you didn’t start packing,” he grumbled, his hands busy at the belt of her dressing gown.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go out to breakfast,” she said, shrugging the dressing gown off her shoulders and throwing her head back as his hands moved underneath it. “I’m starving.”

“Me, too,” Daniel said, but it wasn’t food he was hungry for. His mouth started at the hollow at the base of her throat and worked its way down, and Judith lay back, sighing. Breakfast suddenly seemed a lot less important.

Afterward, she curled on her side, Daniel cuddling up behind her. “I could do this every day,” he sighed happily.

“I wish we could,” Judith said. “The distance between here and Amaranthine seems very long.”

“I know.” Daniel kissed her shoulder. “But we’ll travel it as often as we can.”

“Once we get the last of the darkspawn rounded up, it should be pretty quiet, this Warden Commander thing. Recruiting trips, training, that kind of thing.” She rolled onto her back. “Should give me plenty to time to spend with my good-looking husband.”

Daniel blushed slightly at the compliment. “You know,” he said tentatively, “I thought it might be nice to take a honeymoon trip sometime, when we have the chance.”

“Oh?” Something about his tone made it sound as though he didn’t expect her to like this idea. “Where to?”

“Well, Highever for one. My mother wants to meet you.”

Judith swallowed. “She does?”

“Absolutely! She wrote to say that she couldn’t wait to see the girl who finally convinced her lad to settle down.” Daniel smiled fondly. His mother, who had raised him largely on her own, was quite a woman. She’d remarried a few years ago and moved to Highever, and he missed her. “She was sad she couldn’t make it to the wedding, but she’s been ill and isn’t well enough to travel.”

“Isn’t she … uncomfortable with the fact that I’m a mage?”

“Not at all. She still misses my sister, you know. I think she’ll find it fitting—comforting, even—that you’re a mage. As though you’re somehow a link to Melanie.”

“Someday we’re going to find your sister, Daniel. I promise you that,” Judith said. 

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I hope so. I hope when we find her, she wants to be found.”

“Me, too,” Judith said. She kissed him to cover her skepticism. Most mages were taught that their family feared them as much as, or more than, everyone else did. Very few mages believed their families wanted to see them again. Since she’d become a Grey Warden, she’d found that families were not allowed to visit, or even to know what happened to their mage children … but the mages in the Tower didn’t know that. They only knew that they never heard from their families again, and assumed it was their fault. If Melanie had been free for several years now and had never contacted her family, it didn’t bode well for her willingness to be found by them.

They both jumped when there was a knock on the door. “Breakfast, sers,” called out a voice. 

“Just a minute, Alex!” Daniel shouted back. He got up, throwing the covers over Judith and pulling on a shirt and pair of pants before he went to the door. “How did you know we were ready to eat, Alex?”

“It’s noon, ser.” Alex’s expression didn’t change, but there was an amused glint in his eyes as he came in, putting the heavy tray down on the table.

“Noon?!” Judith exclaimed. “I should really—“

“You should not,” Daniel said. He grinned at her. “You really don’t know how to relax, do you?” He escorted Alex to the door, holding it open with a pointed look at his valet.

“Regimented days keep the demons away,” Judith sing-songed. “The Templars’ credo.”

“Your days haven’t exactly been regimented during the Blight,” he observed, “and you seem to have held off the demons pretty well.” He took the cover off of a dish, and the scent of bacon filled the room.

“Oh, food,” Judith breathed, pushing at the covers.

“Wait right there,” Daniel said. He filled a plate for her and brought it to her in bed. “For you, my lady.”

“You’re lovely,” Judith said. She took a huge bite of a fluffy biscuit. When her mouth was free again, she said, “When I get done eating, I’m going to kiss you.”

Used to the ravenous appetites of Grey Wardens, Daniel laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.” He filled his own plate, sitting down at the foot of the bed. They ate in silence for a few minutes, both of them wolfing down the food with relish. When he could tell that Judith was slowing down, Daniel said, “So, speaking of family …”

“Were we?” Judith finished off the last strip of bacon, eyeing him warily.

“We were. I was thinking, maybe, after we visited my mother, we could … go find your family.” He held still, awaiting her reaction.

Judith’s heart raced. She barely remembered her father, and her clearest memory of her mother was of a frightened face and a voice saying, “Keep her away from the baby.” The idea of approaching them now made her stomach churn nervously. “I … don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“Why not? You’re always saying that the Chantry tries to keep parents and children apart. Don’t you think you owe it to them, as well as to yourself, to at least try and explain to them, show them what a smart, lovely, capable daughter they produced?”

“Oh, Daniel, that’s so sweet … but it’s probably better without.” She set her plate aside, opening her arms to him. “Come here and let me show you how wonderful I think you are.”

He put his plate down, as well. “I can hardly refuse an invitation like that … but don’t think the subject’s closed. I can be very persistent.”

“I hope so,” Judith murmured, lifting her mouth for his kiss.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, in love and laughter and the occasional doze. Daniel was just thinking it might be time to ring for some dinner when there was an insistent banging on the door. Alarmed, he got out of bed. Judith was just waking from a nap, looking groggily around. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know.” He pulled his clothes on, going to the door. Alex stood there, looking both embarrassed and alarmed.

“I am sorry, ser, this young man was most insistent that he be allowed to see the Commander. He said it was life or death.”

“He’s a Grey Warden,” Judith said sharply. Now that she was fully awake, she could feel the tainted bond between her and the wild-eyed and exhausted young man who staggered into the room. “What is the trouble?” she asked him.

“My lady …” said the man—boy, really. “Commander?”

“Yes. I am Judith Kylon, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. Who are you?”

“Finbar, my lady. Uh, ser. Newly Joined Grey Warden. I come from Amaranthine.”

“What’s happened, Finbar?” Judith took her robes from Daniel, shrugging into them under the covers. At least she’d learned some useful tricks in the Circle Tower, she thought. 

“Darkspawn, ser. They attacked the keep. Keenan, one of the other Wardens, sent me away as soon as it started, to get help. Maker, ser, as I was leaving I heard one of the darkspawn say it wanted to capture all the Wardens.”

“Capture all the … It talked?” Judith frowned, pausing at the edge of the bed. “Darkspawn don’t talk.”

“So I thought, ser, but I heard this one. I—I know what you’re thinking, young recruit and scared, but I know what I heard.”

“I believe you, Finbar. I think.” Judith stood up, her alarm increasing. “Talking darkspawn. That’s new.” She looked at Daniel. “I have to get to the palace, to see Alistair and Riordan. Can you have a messenger sent to Oghren and Shianni? Tell them if they’re coming with me, they’d better be ready at daybreak.” She kissed him quickly. “Sorry about your restful days, sweetheart. Meet me at the Palace later?” Kylon nodded.

With Finbar at her heels, Judith hurried out of the room. Daniel sighed heavily. He should have known the peace and quiet couldn’t last. With a resigned shrug, he turned to get dressed.


	7. Discussion

_22 Justinian:_

As they rushed across Denerim toward the Palace, Judith watched the young man next to her. Finbar was clearly tired, but willing enough to keep up with her, his face grim under the fiery orange-red hair.

“How long have you been a Warden, Finbar?”

“Three days,” he said. “Those Orlesians, they didn’t waste time.”

“How did they get there so fast?”

“So I was told, when King Alistair took the throne, he sent a messenger to the Wardens camped at the border, that it was safe to come in. They said they were on their way to Denerim, but then they felt the Archdemon get killed—“ He broke off and looked at Judith curiously. “You think that’s true? They could feel it?”

She shuddered, remembering. “I’m sure they could.”

“The Orlesians were headed for Soldier’s Peak. Always been haunted, that has,” Finbar said skeptically.

“No, it’s been cleansed,” Judith said. “No more ghosts, no more demons.”

“Really, ser?” He stared at her with unabashed admiration. “By the Maker!”

“Then what happened?” Judith asked impatiently. “With the Orlesians,” she clarified when Finbar continued to stare at her, having lost the thread of the conversation.

“Oh, yes, ser! They were heading for Soldier’s Peak, but then the King sent another messenger to go to Amaranthine instead.”

“Alistair did that? Huh.” Judith wouldn’t have expected him to be so detail-oriented. Clearly her friend had hidden talents. “So the Orlesians moved right into Amaranthine and got started recruiting?”

“That’s about the size of it, ser. Joined right up, I did.” Finbar started to grin, but the smile disappeared as he remembered why he was here. “I sure hope we can get back there in time.”

“How many darkspawn did you say there were?” They were running up the palace steps now.

“Couldn’t say, ser. They sent me away right as soon as the darkspawn showed up.”

“Why didn’t the other Wardens sense them?” Judith said, almost to herself. She nodded to the door guards at the Palace, who opened the door as she and Finbar approached. Inside, the chamberlain approached them, bowing to her. “We need to see His Majesty right away.”

“He’s in conference with the Chancellor, ser. If you can wait?” 

“No, I cannot wait. Please take me to him at once.”

“Yes, ser,” said the chamberlain, turning to lead them down the hallway.

Finbar looked around him with undisguised curiosity. “Whooee,” he said under his breath.

Alistair, forewarned by the taint, was at the door of his office when they approached. “Get tired of marital bliss already?” he said to Judith, grinning widely, but the smile faded from his face as her tense expression registered with him. “What’s wrong?”

“Trouble in Amaranthine,” she said tersely.

“Ah.” He turned to the chamberlain. “Thank you, Chalmers,” he said. “I’ll take it from here. Will you find Riordan for me and send him down here?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Chalmers bowed.

“When my husband gets here, could you bring him on back?” Judith asked, her cheeks flushing. It was the first time she had referred to Daniel that way. It felt very good.

“Certainly, Arlessa.” Chalmers turned and headed back down the hallway, and Judith walked into the office. “Hello, Teagan.”

“Judith.” He stood up, kissing her on the cheek. “That was quite the party last night.”

“What you remember of it?” She raised an eyebrow, smirking at him.

“You could say that.” He chuckled.

Alistair shut the door, turning to look at Judith. “What kind of trouble in Amaranthine?”

“Let’s wait till Riordan gets here. Alistair, this is Finbar. He’s a new recruit. Three days, he tells me.”

“Glad to meet you, Finbar,” Alistair said, clasping his right arm across his chest.

Finbar stared wide-eyed at the King.

“Finbar! Snap out of it!” Judith said. 

“Oh! Yes, ser.” The young Warden blushed. “Sorry, Your Majesty.”

“It’s all right,” Alistair said uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to being the object of anyone’s awe. “Er, welcome to the Grey Wardens.”

“Thank you, ser!”

Judith felt Riordan’s approach and got up to let him in.

Riordan grinned when he saw her, but she cut off whatever jocular remark he was about to make with a swift shake of her head. “Save the jokes for later, please. There’s something serious that our young compatriot has to tell us. Finbar, this is Riordan. Please tell the others what you told me.”

“Yes, sers,” Finbar said, his shoulders slumping as he began to retell the story. When he was finished, the other three Wardens looked at each other unhappily.

“What do you think of it?” Judith said.

“Talking darkspawn,” Alistair said slowly. “It’s … hard to believe. And how were there so many darkspawn in Amaranthine when the Blight just ended?”

“Perhaps,” Teagan said, and they all turned to look at him where he leaned against the windowsill. Slowly, he went on, “perhaps with the Archdemon dead, the darkspawn turned to the next most powerful … being in their world. After all, it’s what we do, isn’t it? Our leader falls, we turn to another one.”

“So you’re saying there’s something—someone—out there nearly as powerful as the Archdemon?” Alistair shook his head. “I don’t know whether to be frightened … or relieved that I might have something to do other than stand around and look kingly.”

“But you do it so well.” Judith smiled at him. She turned to Teagan. “I think you may have it,” she said. “Not that I want to think that way.”

“Where did they come from?” Riordan asked Finbar. His face was drawn, and Judith realized what she hadn’t thought of before—that the Orlesian Wardens under attack at Amaranthine were Riordan’s friends. 

“Ser, they seemed to come from inside the keep itself. It was … like they came up from the ground.”

“Basement tunnels, do you think?” Alistair said.

“Sounds like the best answer,” Riordan said. He shook his head. “That many darkspawn … How soon do we leave?” he asked Judith.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Kylon entered the palace, the guards waving him through the doors, and found the chamberlain, who bowed to him. “My lord, you’re to come with me.”

“Thank you, Chalmers.” Kylon followed the chamberlain down the hall, wishing a darkspawn would pop up in front of them so he could kill it and go back home with Judith.

“It seems the pleasures of the bedroom are not enough to keep our Warden from her duty, does it not?” The Antivan voice came from the shadows, and Kylon started, nearly falling over.

“Will you stop that?” he said as Zev emerged into the light, grinning.

“Not as long as it makes you leap so gracefully into the air, my dear Arl.”

“Someday I’ll get you back,” Kylon grumbled.

“You are welcome to try,” Zev said, serene in the unlikelihood of that occurrence.

They arrived at the door of the King’s office, Chalmers knocking for them. Alistair opened the door, letting them in, and Chalmers returned down the hall to his post in the grand reception area.

Judith smiled at Kylon as he came in, and warmth rushed through him. He crossed the room to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She leaned back against him, taking comfort in his presence as long as she could. “Daniel,” she said, “we were just talking about when to leave. I was thinking first light, but Riordan would like to leave immediately.”

“Even if we have to travel with lanterns in the dark, the sooner we get there, the more … we can save,” he said, his voice cracking on the last few words.

“It’s a good point.” Judith looked sadly up at her husband. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You do what you need to do, of course,” he said. “Let me know what I can do.”

“I’ll go with you,” Alistair announced suddenly. A chorus of disagreement met the statement. 

Teagan’s voice rose above the hubbub. “Your Majesty simply cannot afford to leave the capital at this point. The entire fate of Ferelden rests in your hands—the fate of the defenders of one keep, dear though they may be,” he said with a sympathetic nod at Riordan, “is not enough reason to abandon your duties. Should it prove that the danger is greater—another Blight, or something approaching it—the country might be able to spare you. But not now.”

Alistair looked as though he were going to protest, but he met no sympathy in any of the faces in the room. “Fine,” he said. “But let me give you a parting gift. I have a young soldier, Ser Mhairi, who is desperate to join the Wardens. I’ll send her along with you.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” Judith said. “Can we count on your help outfitting?”

“Of course!”

The impromptu meeting broke up, everyone scattering to ready the needed supplies for the trip. Judith grasped Zev’s arm on the way out. “Are you coming with us?”

“I am not certain.”

“Can I ask you to stay behind? It’s just—with Riordan and Oghren and me all going, Alistair and Daniel … Will you keep an eye on them for me?”

“Just an eye?” Zev winked. 

Judith glared at him.

“Very well. But you are no fun at all.”

“Remember that,” she said, hugging him affectionately.

Shortly afterward, they met in the courtyard of the castle. Riordan; Oghren and Shianni; Finbar; Judith; Ser Mhairi, a dark-haired and intense young woman who seemed ill-at-ease; and Sam the mabari, bouncing happily at having something to do again. While Riordan and Zev were exchanging a passionate good-bye, Daniel drew Judith into the shadows for a semblance of privacy. “Do you have everything you need? Plenty of lyrium potions?” She nodded. “Health poultices, just in case? Yes,” he said, when she snorted at him, “sometimes even amazing arcane warrior-spirit healers need a health poultice.”

“All right, all right,” she said. “I’ll get a couple from Riordan.”

“Thank you. That makes me feel better. I love you,” he said intensely, drawing her close.

“I love you, too,” she said. “I’m so sorry I have to leave—“

Daniel cut her off. “Don’t be sorry. You may be—are, I hope—saving lives. We’ll have time for us eventually.”

With a quick kiss and embrace, she and the rest of the party were off, leaving Alistair, Zev, and Kylon staring after them. After a few minutes, Zev said, “Standing here moping is not amusing at all. Shall we, my lovely gentlemen?”

“Shall we what?” Alistair said suspiciously.

“Was that an invitation, my liege?” the elf purred.

“Are you sure you need to stay in town?” Alistair groused.

Kylon smiled briefly at the badinage, but his eyes stayed fixed on the spot where Judith had disappeared. He hadn’t given anywhere near enough thought—none at all, to be truthful—to what he would do when she left. It was time to make some changes, he decided.

“Come on, you two. Drinks are on me.”

“Oh, if only that could be true,” Zev mourned, falling in step with the two taller men.


	8. Changes

_29 Justinian:_

Judith put the quill down, resting her head on the desk for just a minute. She was so tired—it seemed she’d been on the move ever since she’d arrived in Amaranthine. And it didn’t look as though the workload was going to lighten anytime soon. She took a deep breath, then lifted her head and took up the quill again. Tired as she was, she didn’t want to put this letter off any longer. Daniel must be worried sick at not hearing from her.

_Dearest Daniel:  
I’m sorry for not writing sooner. It has been chaos here, and I don’t know where to start. We arrived in time to save many of the soldiers and staff of Vigil’s Keep (including the seneschal, Varel, who has been invaluable), but all the Wardens were gone. We found one in the basement, not quite dead, who confirmed Finbar’s story of the talking darkspawn, and said that the Wardens were taken hostage, not killed. This is remarkably disturbing—Riordan in particular is dismayed, not just because they were his friends, but because it is unheard of for darkspawn to take prisoners, especially males. I have some hope we will find the other Wardens alive, but Riordan clearly does not._

‘Dismayed’, she thought, hardly covered Riordan’s reaction. He’d held up until the Keep was cleared, and then excused himself to be alone with his grief. When he’d returned, his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and, for the first time, Judith could see the toll the taint had taken on him in his face. He looked twenty years older. She pinched the bridge of her nose to combat the sting of tears, and turned back to her letter.

_Ser Mhairi, sadly, did not survive the Joining, but Oghren and Shianni did. After the Joining, I told them all the things that come with the taint. Shianni was so outraged that I hadn’t told her she wouldn’t be able to have children that she rushed from the Keep in a rage, and hasn’t been seen since. It never occurred to me to tell her beforehand, Daniel! More and more I am seeing how my upbringing in the Tower has affected my ability to navigate the rules and beliefs others live by. Mages are not allowed to have children. It’s not impossible, mind you, but it is strongly discouraged by both Circle and Chantry. It simply is not something I think about. (It occurs to me now to wonder—do you think about it? Is it a problem for you that I can’t have children? I wish you were here, for so many reasons, but one reason is to talk to you about this.) Oghren is still angry with me because Shianni left, and I am worried sick about her, but there’s no way I can leave to go searching for her. There aren’t enough of us and the Keep requires a great deal of work. In addition, there is something tearing up the Wending Wood, a possible opening to the Deep Roads in the Knotwood Hills, and trouble and unrest enough in the Arling for even an experienced noble. Fortunately, I have acquired one. After we had dispatched the remaining darkspawn here in the Keep, I was taken to the dungeons, where a man had been kept imprisoned. He is Nathaniel Howe, son of Rendon Howe. He came, he says, to kill me, but seems more like a lost lamb trying to find his home. So I gave it back to him, in a manner of speaking—he is now a Grey Warden, and despite being taciturn and hostile, is proving to be very helpful to Varel and me in trying to straighten out the Arling._

She yawned, scrubbing her hand across her face. It was late, the candle flame flickering low, and tomorrow was an early morning. But she wanted this letter to go along with her official correspondence to the King first thing in the morning. Judith dipped her quill in the inkwell.

_One very pleasant surprise awaited me here—as we cleared out the Keep, we found a mage who had done some impressive work on the darkspawn. He’s the one Wynne mentioned to you, Anders, who was with Melanie on her escape! He recognized my (your, OUR!) last name immediately, and has fond memories of your sister, although he doesn’t know where she is. There hasn’t been time for an in-depth conversation about their escape, but I know he’s anxious to meet you and tell you all about it. Meanwhile, Anders has been an excellent addition to the Wardens. He is much like Alistair, only far less innocent (he prides himself on his prowess with women), and he and Oghren get along quite well, constantly insulting each other. They’re completely corrupting poor Finbar! I hope Anders’s presence can help Oghren cope with Shianni’s loss. I hope she comes back—I feel so terribly guilty for not thinking to warn her first about the effects of the taint. I will not make that mistake again._  
Finally, do you happen to know the extremely generous Arl who sent Denerim’s most talented armorer to the Vigil? (You’re wonderful, darling! I love you. I’d love you more if you’d found a way to keep Herren in Denerim.) I miss you so much, and can’t wait until things settle down here and we can be together again.  
All my love,  
Judith 

She blotted the letter, folding and sealing it, wishing she could mail herself along with it.   
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
 _2 Solace:_

Kylon folded the letter from Judith, tucking it carefully away in the top drawer of his dresser. He could feel the weariness etched into each line, and wondered for the hundredth time if he should go to her. But she had no time to be distracted from her work, and Denerim really couldn’t spare him right now, eager though he was to pursue this first tenuous link to his sister. Of all the people for Judith to find in Amaranthine! He yawned, taking off his pajamas. As he dressed, he reflected that not long ago he’d have been appalled if he slept this late. This comfortable noble life had him lying abed late into the morning, and his exercise regimen had completely fallen by the wayside. He felt soft and lazy, a state of affairs that really had to end.

He could hear Alex coming with his breakfast tray, his footsteps echoing in the halls of the huge estate. This house was meant for a family, or at least a retinue, neither of which he had or was likely to acquire. Another thing that needed changing. 

Kylon opened the door for Alex, who looked flustered. “Ser, really, you shouldn’t—“

“You’re absolutely right, Alex.” 

Alex blinked. He’d grown used to Kylon’s protestations—the Arl’s lack of argument was enough to throw his valet completely off his game. Before Alex could recover, Kylon had taken the tray from him.

“Sit down, Alex,” Kylon said, beginning to divide the large breakfast in two.

“But ser!”

“Alex, I insist,” Kylon said, kindly but firmly.

So Alex sat, and allowed his master to help him to breakfast.

“I’ve been giving a lot of thought to this, Alex, and I think we need to make some changes. As of right now, you are no longer my valet.”

“SER!” Alex blanched, thinking of his elderly parents, kept in comfort by his salary. What would they do if he was fired?

“I have no need of someone to dress me and bring me food,” Kylon said, “and it’s an insult to your intelligence to think that’s all you’re capable of.” He noticed Alex’s panicked expression and smiled. “Don’t worry, I have another job for you.”

“What is that?” Alex said weakly.

“This house is ridiculously big for one person and a staff. And Denerim is still teeming with refugees. I want you to fill these rooms with them, Alex. Charge them a token rent so they don’t feel they’re receiving charity, try and help them find jobs or prepare to return to their homes. Above all, feed them!”

“That’s very generous, ser.”

“It’s very practical, Alex. I wouldn’t have my city’s best interests at heart if I didn’t use the resources available to get people off the streets. Will you do it?”

“You want me to find these people, ser?”

“I suspect the challenge won’t be finding as much as selecting which ones of the many,” Kylon chuckled. He could only imagine how many people would be lining up to take advantage of the opportunity. “So?”

“I … thank you for putting your trust in me, ser. I will do my best.” Alex cleared his throat. “You really don’t want me to dress you?”

“I’m a soldier, Alex. Trying to be like other nobles just doesn’t suit me.” He caught sight of the twinkle in Alex’s eyes. “Or do you disagree?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, ser.” The twinkle was perilously close to becoming a full-blown smirk. “When do you want me to start?”

“As soon as the house is ready. And since ‘valet’ no longer suits your role, perhaps we’ll call you ‘household manager’. Which certainly ought to come with a raise, don’t you think?” Kylon was gratified to see Alex break into a full grin at that. “Here’s to your new role, and no longer having to deal with me first thing in the morning.” He raised his teacup, and Alex clinked his against it.  
\----- ----- ------ ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ------ -----  
The elf mage Stana ran through the forest, her black hair streaming behind her. Her heart pounded, and she glanced back over her shoulder in terror. She could hear them closing in on her—there were so many, and she was exhausted from holding them off. She fumbled for a lyrium potion, but the fancy clothing she’d taken to wearing instead of her robes had too many lacings and layers. She couldn’t reach her pocket. Distracted, she stumbled over a fallen tree branch and fell to her knees. Dimly she realized she’d torn the beautiful dress she’d been so proud of, but she couldn’t focus on the thought. 

A voice came through the trees toward her. “You can’t hide for long, _mage_.”


	9. Companionship

_8 Solace:_

Kylon stood in front of the shattered gates of Denerim, watching as a busy crew of workers put up the framing for new gates. He’d rounded up the stonemasons of Denerim’s small dwarven population to help rebuild the city’s defenses. Their voices rang out over the din of hammers and chisels. 

“Put yer backs into it!” … “Ye got the muscles of a nug!” … “By the Stone, no bronto could do it better!”

The familiar words and tone made him think of Oghren and Shianni. He felt a pang of sympathy—poor Shianni, blind-sided by the side effects of becoming a Grey Warden. Kylon had left orders with his guardsmen that he wanted to know if Shianni was seen in Denerim, but it occurred to him now that he might want to look up Soris. The two were cousins, after all. If Shianni came back into town, she’d probably head straight for her family.

He turned, making his way across the city toward the Alienage. As he passed through the Market District, a member of his guards came up to him.

“’Ey, guv, been lookin’ for you.”

“Rook,” he said quietly. “Nice armor. You join up?”

“Never know when a good set o’ armor might come in handy,” Rook said. “Got some news.”

“What about?”

“Lyrium shipments.”

Kylon groaned. The lyrium trade was rife with issues, especially now. The mages might not be under the Chantry’s control, but by law, the lyrium trade still was. And the Revered Mother was holding onto that last bit of power with the tenacity of a leech. 

“’Bout right, guv,” Rook said with a chuckle. “Got word lyrium’s bein’ hijacked somewhere in the Frostbacks. Not all of it, not so much as to make a scene, but steady-like. It’s not showin’ up again, though. Chantry don’t have it, mages in the Tower don’t have it, Black Market don’t have it. Dunno where it’s goin’.”

“Can you find out?”

“Aye, but it might take a bit o’—“ He caught the coin Kylon tossed him. “You read my mind. Glad to be of service, guv.”

Kylon nodded, but the man in the guardsman’s armor was already gone. The Arl continued his way toward the Alienage, his mind racing. Some lyrium always went astray. It was a fact of life. But usually it showed up in the Tower, or on the Black Market. If no one had it … was there a coven of apostates out there, stockpiling lyrium? Was ‘apostate’ even still a term anymore? Or were they all apostates now? And who was overseeing the mages, keeping track of them, making sure none of them abused their powers? What had happened to the Mages’ Collective in the wake of the changes? Freedom was all well and good, he thought, but someone had to have a plan somewhere. He made a mental note to bring up those questions, and a further mental note to start carrying some paper and something to write with.

His ponderings came to a halt as he walked into the Alienage, looking around in approval at the changes he saw. They were moving slowly, compared to other areas of the city—the elves were resistant to being helped from outside—but there were some improvements already. The noise, among other things. The previous Arl of Denerim had held that elves were best seen and not heard. Raised voices and merriment inside the Alienage had been frowned on. But now he heard a group of elf children running around playing a loud game, a pair of women squabbling good-naturedly as they hung up their wash, and the cry of a street vendor. 

Street vendor? That was new. Until the end of the Blight, vendors weren’t permitted to sell in the Alienage, and most of them were still afraid to try it. He quickened his steps, following the sound of the patter. 

“Your Lordship,” said the vendor, a wizened older woman he knew well. “This i’n’t your usual patch, is it, ser?”

“If you look at it, Nell, everything in the city’s my patch these days.” He looked over the vegetables in her cart. It was a fairly poor display, another sign of the Blight—crops didn’t grow well in the tainted lands. “What do you recommend today?” 

“Try the greens, ser. Not so bad.” She sighed. “Wish I had better to sell, but these folks seem happy to see any kind of fresh veg.”

“I suppose they probably are,” he said. He dug in his pockets for some coin to pay her for the greens, then handed the paper-wrapped bundle of them to Ivan, his ever-present guard. Ivan looked pained for a moment, eyeing the greens askance.

Kylon grinned. “Seems I’ve found a new use for a bodyguard,” he said.

Ivan grumbled something under his breath as they continued through the Alienage to the small house where Soris still lived with his uncle. He knocked on the door, and the dark-haired young elf opened it.

“Your Lordship!” Soris said in surprise. “Welcome to my home.”

“Soris, please, feel free to call me Daniel. We don’t need to stand on ceremony.” He stepped into the little house. “Ivan, would you mind waiting outside?” The guard nodded, taking up a position outside the door.

Soris led Kylon to a couple of comfortable chairs near the fire. “My uncle isn’t home today—he’s at a meeting to talk about the school. Did you know we’re thinking about starting a school here?”

“I’d heard something about it,” Kylon said. “I think it sounds wonderful. Have you considered talking with some of the Dalish who have been around, seeing if you can bring in a teacher from their clans occasionally? It could be an invaluable means of bringing your two cultures together.”

“It’s a good idea,” Soris said, “if they’ll agree to it. The Dalish aren’t known for respecting those of us who live in the cities.” He poured steaming mugs of herbal tea from a pot hanging near the fire, handing one to Kylon before he seated himself in the other chair. “But I can’t imagine you came here for that. What can I do for you today, ser?”

“It’s … it’s about Shianni,” Kylon said uncomfortably. “Have you seen her?”

“Not since she left for Amaranthine,” Soris said. He sighed in exasperation. “What’s she done this time?”

“Done? Nothing,” Kylon said in surprise.

“Well, that’s a relief. I don’t have to tell you that Shianni’s … colorful attitudes have made trouble for all of us more than once.”

“No, in this case … well, she’s left Amaranthine. And she may be coming here.”

“Coming home from the Wardens?” Soris’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “She talked of nothing else after she met the Hero—your wife, I mean. Why would she leave?”

“I can only tell you that she’s very upset, Soris, and she has a reason to be.” Soris’s face darkened, and Kylon hastened to reassure him. “She’s fine, nothing’s wrong, it’s just … there are some truths about being a Grey Warden that aren’t revealed until after … you become one, and Shianni took some of those truths … badly.” Maker, how he wished he’d thought about what he was going to say before he got here. “Can you just let me know if you see her? I’d like to talk to her,” he finished lamely.

“Can’t you tell me what this is about? Is there—is she in any danger?”

“No! Well, I don’t know where she is, but … no, she shouldn’t be in any kind of danger.” 

“Interesting,” Soris said slowly. “So you can’t tell me what happened to my cousin, just that she left the Grey Wardens and might not be in danger.”

“That’s, um, about the size of it,” Kylon said miserably. “It’s just—Maker, Soris, these are Grey Warden secrets and I’m not one. I have no right to tell you what I’ve already said, much less any more.”

“Well, I thank you for being so forthcoming.” Some of the friendliness had left Soris’s brown eyes, and he stood up, indicating an end to the interview. “I’ll let you know if I she comes here; I hope you’ll do the same if you happen to see her. Tell her that her family worries about her.”

“I will do so. Thank you for your time, Soris. Let me know if you need anything,” Kylon said, suddenly uncomfortably aware that he was technically Soris’s liege lord.

“Thank you, ser.” Soris bowed. “I appreciate you coming to see me.”

Kylon left the small dwelling, depressed. He missed his wife, and the lack of time together and the inability to have a family and her absence came together like a black cloud over his head. Their attempt at having a marriage in such circumstances seemed suddenly an ineffectual railing against fate. Closing his eyes, he tried to summon up his usual optimism. For a moment, he wished Zev was here to offer some cheerful banter, but the elf had left town to begin the hunt for Morrigan. It went against the grain to hope that something would happen to the witch’s child … but he didn’t want to think about what she might intend to do with the entrapped soul of the Old God.

He turned his steps toward the Palace, shaking his head to try and dispel the gloom that hung over him. Inside the Palace, Chalmers greeted him with a smile. “I believe their Majesties are at dinner,” the chamberlain said. “Shall I ask if you can join them?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Kylon objected, not particularly wanting to sit there watching Alistair and Anora in their wedded bliss.

“I don’t believe you will be, ser. The Teyrn of Highever is here, as is Tey—uh, Loghain.”

“In that case, please do see if they have an extra place. Thank you, Chalmers.”

“Of course, ser.” Chalmers bowed, disappearing in the direction of the dining room. He was back in a few moments, beaming. “You are invited to come with me, ser.”

In the dining room, the plates were being cleared. Alistair waved Kylon in. “Sit down, Daniel. We’re just about to have dessert.”

Kylon’s eyes met those of Fergus Cousland. Fergus stood up hastily. “Actually, Daniel and I have … a meeting.”

“At this hour?” Alistair looked skeptical. 

“There are certain types of people who only meet at this hour,” Kylon put in, following Fergus’s lead. Apparently sitting at table with the King and Queen and her father didn’t make for a fun evening. 

“I hear you’ve made some changes in your estate, Daniel,” Anora said.

“Yes. I’ve thrown the doors open to refugees—all that silence was too much for me—and now the place is worse than the Market District on Satinalia Eve.” 

“It’s made you quite popular with the people, I understand,” Loghain put in, his eyes unreadable. 

“Perhaps,” Kylon said. “It’s also gotten a great number of refugees off the streets, which is good for everyone. We’re trying to train those who want to stay in Denerim, to find them useful employment; and I’m taking up a collection for those who want to return to their homes, so they can afford to go back to … whatever they have left.”

“It isn’t much,” Loghain said. He looked down at his plate.

“Your farmhold, ser?” Fergus asked.

“It won’t be that again for some time. The taint will be difficult to eradicate.”

Alistair muttered something under his breath, taking a deep gulp of wine. Anora’s jaw tightened, and she leaned forward toward Daniel.

“What do you hear from Judith?” she asked.

Kylon swallowed. “Very little,” he said finally, striving for an even and casual tone. “The situation in Amaranthine seems generally dismal—I’m sure she doesn’t have much time to write.”

“Of course,” Anora said softly. 

“Well, we must be going,” Fergus said, heading for the door. 

“Are you sure you two can handle this meeting?” Alistair said, a hint of desperation in his tone. “I don’t believe I have anything on my calendar this evening, do I, my dear?” 

Anora looked at him in exasperation, and the hint of a smirk seemed to tug at the corner of Loghain’s mouth. Kylon wondered how long Loghain was planning to stay this time—the tension between Alistair and Anora had ratcheted up significantly with her father here. 

“No, I believe we can handle it,” Kylon said. “We’ll leave you to your pleasant evening.” He met Alistair’s eyes, hoping his friend would get the message. If this hostility and chilly atmosphere kept up, the marriage would suffer and so would the monarchy. 

He and Fergus said their good-byes, and the two of them left together. Outside in the warm night air, Fergus groaned. “Maker, I need a drink.”

“You and me both,” Kylon said.

“It’s hard to be so far away from her, isn’t it?” 

Guilt shot through Kylon. After everything Fergus had lost, he still had room to be understanding of other people’s gloomy moods. “It’s not so bad.”

“It’s miserable. Don’t deny it.” Fergus took Kylon by the arm. “Come on, let’s get drunk and tell war stories that make us look like heroes.”

“I know just the place,” Kylon said. “Have you ever heard of this Nevarran stuff called tequila?”


	10. Impending

_10 Solace:_

Judith refolded the piece of parchment, already much-creased from many readings, tucking it away. There was a small stack of Daniel’s letters now, a steady stream of correspondence expressing his love and concern for her and keeping her up-to-date on matters in the capitol. She didn’t know what she would have done without them, the words a lifeline to his love and support. 

In return, she’d written to him exactly once. Judith felt a depth of guilt so great at this mismatch that she was actually annoyed at Daniel for being so faithful and solicitous. 

Tonight, she’d locked the door to her office, and she refused to let anyone in or go out herself until she’d written him. She owed him that, and much more. Closing her eyes, she pictured his brown eyes smiling at her.

_Daniel –_  
Thank you for your letters. They mean more to me than I can tell you. I read them over and over until I can almost hear your voice reading them to me and feel your warmth surrounding me. And I have need of it. The city of Amaranthine has been overrun by smugglers and maleficarum. There are conspiracies afoot by the nobility to cheat the people out of what little they have left (and, incidentally, to assassinate yours truly. You shouldn’t worry about this, as they’re fairly clumsy about it. Certainly, they’re not up to Crow standards). We’ve been most efficient about cleaning up the riffraff, if I say so myself. The city is almost back in order after a significant amount of effort on our part. You’d think they have no one else to keep the peace! I may have to replace the head of the guards here, Constable Aidan, who seems to be completely ineffectual. The nobles are all quarrelling over whose concerns should be given priority—the merchants, the city, or the farmers. I’ve tried to cover everyone as much as possible, but the Vigil only has so many troops.   
I have a lovely pair of dwarves here busily shoring up our defenses. It was very needed—we found an entrance to the Deep Roads in the Vigil’s own basement! No wonder the darkspawn were able to ambush all the Wardens here. There’s been no further progress in deciphering the mystery of the talking darkspawn.  
Judith leaned back, sighing. The talking darkspawn worried her, the silence more distressing than a series of attacks would have been. What did they want? Where had they come from? What were they doing with the Wardens they had taken from the Vigil? She thought of Riordan’s haunted eyes and sunken cheeks, her heart aching at the toll his loss was taking on him. Taking up the quill again, she returned to her letter.  
Riordan has aged considerably since we arrived. He is slowly losing his will to live, I think, and his grief over the loss of his comrades, especially under such mysterious and ominous circumstances, is more than can be assuaged by anyone here. If you see Zev, send him here. I think Riordan needs him. 

She paused, the quill poised above the paper to ask Daniel to come, too, to tell him that she needed him … but where was the time? She had to clear out the Wending Wood, to get to the bottom of the nobles’ conspiracy, to investigate the Blackmarsh. And what would he think of her, crying to him that she couldn’t handle being Commander when she’d been in the post for such a short time? No, she’d bear these burdens herself. No need to trouble Daniel, who undoubtedly had a full enough plate getting Denerim back on its feet again.

_My small band of Wardens is doing well. Finbar has proven invaluable—educating him is the glue that binds them all together. Riordan works with the lad on his swordsmanship, Nathaniel on his proficiency with a bow. Oghren is, of course, teaching the boy how to drink, and Anders is instructing him in the wooing of women. The two of them are already legendary at the local house of ill repute. We have not heard from Shianni. Thank you for going to see Soris. I think you did the right thing, not telling him exactly what upset her. Better for her to tell him if she shows up there. I worry about her constantly, out there alone. Just as we can sense the darkspawn, they can sense us. I hope she can take care of herself._  
I saw Wynne in the city—she was on her way to a meeting of the College of Magi, who are undoubtedly curious what Ferelden’s mages will do with their freedom. We are an example to other countries now, and must act responsibly. I wish I had the time to go to the Circle and consult with Irving, to know what is being done. But as it is, I don’t know when I’ll be able to come to Denerim to see you, much less make the trek all the way to the Tower.   
Good-night, my darling. I miss you, and cannot wait until we can be together again. 

Putting the quill down, Judith read over what she had written. It seemed flat and inadequate, but it was better than nothing. Hastily she blotted and sealed the letter, before she could decide it wasn’t good enough and not send it.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----   
_13 Solace:_

Kylon folded the letter. Send Zev to Amaranthine because Riordan needed him. It occurred to him to wonder about Judith—she didn’t say whether she needed anything. Would she ask, if she did?

He put the letter away, feeling every inch of the distance between them. Strolling through the halls, he marveled at the difference in the estate. It was lively, no question about it, with all the refugees around. Alex was doing a good job managing them, although his former valet seemed harried. Kylon dug a piece of paper and a stub of pencil from his pocket, scribbling a note to tell Alex to hire some extra help. 

The unseasonably chilly drizzle did nothing to help his mood. It made him want to stay home in bed, under the covers, naked, and he was irrationally irritated at the weather because Judith wasn’t here to do that with. He drew his cloak closer around his face, trying to stay dry as he hurried to his office at the barracks. Technically, the Arl of Denerim had no need of an office at the barracks—Kylon wasn’t sure if the previous Arl had even known there was such a thing as a barracks in Denerim—but Kylon liked to check in there. He found it a useful reminder for everyone involved that he knew what he was doing.

The wanted poster of Judith was tacked on the wall above his desk, just as it had been when he was a lowly sergeant, and he looked at it for a moment. Seeing her lovely face, even inadequately rendered in charcoal, made him feel better. So she hadn’t asked for him to come. Maybe she knew she didn’t need to ask, that he would be there if he thought she needed him. Foolish to let a few miles’ distance get him down, he told himself, tearing his eyes away from the picture at last. He sat down behind the desk, checking through reports from the last few days. Crime was rampant, as always. Although many of the districts, when left alone, policed themselves fairly effectively. Sanga, for example, kept a sharp eye on the docks—when the nobles didn’t feel safe patronizing the Pearl, her business suffered. Which is why it surprised him when one of his new sergeants, a tall blonde woman named Brunhilde, came in to tell him that Sanga was there to see him about an important matter.

“By all means, show her in,” Kylon said. He remembered the elegantly wrapped wedding gift that was still sitting unopened in his room. He and Judith hadn’t gotten around to opening it before she left—he only hoped it wasn’t something perishable. He stood up, bowing as Sanga entered the room. “How’s business?”

“Terrible,” Sanga snapped. “I have a big problem, and I am going to need your help with it.”

“What’s going on?” Kylon asked. He gestured to a chair for her, and then took his own once she was seated. 

“It’s the mages.”

“Excuse me?”

“The mages,” she repeated impatiently. “Most of them are okay. They want to come in, spend some coin, show off a few tricks—we let them. It’s good for business … and some of my people report it is good   
\for them, too,” she added, winking at him. 

Kylon shifted in his seat, his pants suddenly feeling a bit constrictive. He’d wanted to see what it would be like if Judith used magic on him, but they hadn’t really had enough time together for him to ask. Not that he was about to admit that to Sanga. He nodded knowingly, returning her wink.

“But these new mages,” Sanga went on, “they have to be stopped. And quickly, too.”

“New mages? What did they do?”

“They robbed me!” Sanga said in outrage. “Some kind of spell they used. I was paralyzed—I, Sanga, in my own Pearl! All I could do was stand there and watch as they robbed my cash drawer and, even worse, my customers! I heard the Nevarran ambassador say he was going to find another house to go to. This cannot be allowed. I came straight here to you, to tell you that these—these cretins must be stopped!”

Kylon groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. What had they been thinking, setting the mages free without any kind of plan? What had Judith been thinking? Or Irving? They should all have known something like this would happen. “How many mages? Can you describe them?” he said to Sanga.

Her bosom heaved against the seams of her bodice, her eyes snapping. “There were two. The man was an elf. He was graceful, trained to move lightly. He held those of us in the room with paralysis while the woman robbed me. Robbed me!” She repeated again, her voice quivering with outrage and the onset of shock. 

“What can you tell me about the woman?”

“She was middle height, not much taller than the elf, but human. And awkward. Not graceful at all.”

“And you’re sure they were both mages?”

“Yes. When the man’s paralysis wore off, the woman created a blizzard in the room to cover their escape. She ruined my carpets and my wallpaper! That was expensive wallpaper, all the way from Antiva. It will cost a fortune to have it replaced!”

“Thank you for coming to me, Sanga.” Kylon moved toward her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “This is the first I’ve heard of these two, but I’ll get right on it. Can you give a statement to Sergeant Brunhilde and a list of those people present who might admit to having been there?”

“Of course. You will actually look into this?”

“Sanga!” Kylon said, shocked. “When have I ever swept crime under a rug?”

“I just thought … with your wife, you know … perhaps you would not want to prosecute mages.” She looked away uncomfortably.

“Crime in my city will be prosecuted,” he said firmly. “Whether it’s committed by mages, dwarves, elves, or nobles. Keep your ear out, please, let me know if you hear about these two hitting anywhere else. If they were so successful in the Pearl, I doubt they’ll hesitate to go after another target.”

“Thank you,” Sanga said, standing up. Kylon walked her to the door, calling for Sergeant Brunhilde. As he watched Sanga walk down the hall with the sergeant, he thought of the phylacteries the Templars used to keep. If he could identify these mages, could he track them with the phylacteries? The thought was swiftly followed by what Judith would say if she knew he’d ever even entertained that thought. He shuddered, imagining the blistering tongue-lashing. But it was a good reminder to find out what had happened with the phylacteries—if he’d thought about using them, who else had? He left the office, heading for the Palace. Alistair and Teagan needed to know about this development immediately … although he had a sinking feeling the Nevarran ambassador had probably already told them.   
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Stana groaned, her head pounding. With awakening came a slow realization of exactly how much her body hurt. Her hands and feet were chained to a wall, and she blinked in the darkness, straining to make out shapes. From the silence inside the room, she seemed to be alone. In the distance, she heard the scrape of metal on stone, the sound getting closer and closer. 

A shaft of light speared its way into the room as a door opened. Stana blinked against the sudden light, her eyes watering. A figure, backlit and indistinguishable, appeared in the doorway, its metal boots clattering on the stone as it strode across the room.

“Who are you?” Stana begged. “Please, what do you want?” To her shame, she felt tears flowing down her cheeks, and she heard herself begging. “Please, I’ll do anything, just let me go!”

The figure ignored her. It walked to another spot on the wall, and Stana saw for the first time that she wasn’t alone in the room. Another figure, a man in mage robes, was chained there, slumped forward unconscious. As she watched, the armored figure took out a key and began unlocking the mage’s manacles. Once free, the mage fell forward, sprawling on the floor, and Stana heard herself emit a high-pitched shriek that echoed off the walls as the mage’s face fell into the light from the door, his mouth falling open and his eyes staring sightlessly up at her.

It was Godwin. Frantically, she tried to remember when Godwin had left for the Circle. Over a month before she had been captured, wasn’t it? Why wasn’t he there? “Oh, Maker, please,” she begged again, “please, let me go!”

The armored figure didn’t bother to look at her. It grabbed Godwin by the hands, dragging his body out of the room. Stana hung in her chains weeping in grief and fear, listening in horrified fascination to the sound of Godwin’s body being dragged down the stone hall.


	11. Energized

_16 Solace:_

“How many places have the mages hit?” Alistair asked.

“Five,” Kylon said. “After the Pearl, they robbed the Gnawed Noble, that Orlesian restaurant in the warehouse district, Madam Thierry’s dress shop, and the Wonders of Thedas. Except the last, they’re all places frequented by nobles.”

“No kidding!” Teagan snapped. “There’ve been a stream of the nobility in here complaining. And where were your men, Daniel? Don’t you have people who are supposed to prevent these kinds of things?” 

“They were there, Teagan! But they’re not trained against mages. Clearly, that’s an omission we’re going to have to fix,” Kylon said wearily. “No one was ready for mages to turn criminal.”

“We should have been,” Alistair said. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Those of us who were in the Tower, who saw what can happen when a mage isn’t …” He winced. “We should have been prepared for anything. We should at least have thought about it before we went and let them loose all over the country.”

“You’re talking about them like they’re all criminals!” Kylon said. “We know that isn’t true.”

“I’m talking about them like they have incredible power, and not all of them know how to use that power properly. For that matter, where are all the Templars? Someone has to find these things out!” 

“So what do we do now?” Teagan asked. 

“We need a commission,” Alistair said. “Some group of people who will track down all the mages, make sure they’re adjusting to the world outside the Tower. Ask the questions, find out the answers.” 

“Such as, what happened to the phylacteries?” Kylon asked. “We need to know where those are, decide what to do with them. Keep them from being used.”

“Why?” Teagan put in. Kylon and Alistair each shot him a black look, and Teagan threw his hands up. “I’m only asking,” he said. “What’s wrong with using the phylacteries?”

“Imagine,” Alistair said, “knowing there’s a vial of your blood out there that can be used to track you, wherever you go.”

“No true freedom, not ever,” Kylon added. “Now imagine a blood mage gets hold of that vial.”

Teagan grimaced. “Okay, I’m convinced. No phylacteries. All right then, who forms this commission, who leads it?”

“We have to talk to Irving and Greagoir at the Tower first,” Alistair said. He looked at Kylon. “I don’t suppose Judith could go.”

Kylon shook his head. “She’s overwhelmed in Amaranthine. Her last letter mentioned she wished she knew what Irving was planning for the mages, but she said there was just no time to go there.”

“What about Fergus?” Alistair asked. “He’s got some time on his hands, he could probably use something to think about.”

“Agreed,” said Teagan. 

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Kylon said. 

“Yes, because the two of you are such buddies now,” Alistair snapped. “Did you have to abandon me to a night with Loghain?”

“With all due respect, my friend, the man’s your wife’s father. If you don’t learn to get along with him …” Kylon let his voice trail off, but Teagan took up the thread.

“If you don’t learn to get along with him, your marriage won’t survive it. As your Chancellor, I strongly advise you to make peace with Loghain.”

“Easy for you to say,” Alistair muttered.  
\----- ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ -----  
 _20 Solace:_

The Vigil was peaceful in the moonlight. Nothing stirred but the guards on their rhythmic rounds, their timing easy to work around. Too easy, Zev thought as he snuck in. He’d expected better of Judith. Had he taught her nothing? 

It took very little in the way of clues for Zev to find his way to Riordan’s room. His lover liked to be as high up as possible, and only one room held the sound of restless pacing. Actually, thought Zev, given Grey Wardens’ trouble with sleep, it was surprising that only the one room showed signs of a wakeful occupant. His hands busily worked at the lock on the door, and he cursed under his breath when it stuck. With all his considerable skills, it continually galled him that he wasn’t better at picking locks. 

Finally the lock gave way, and he gently pushed the door open, only to find the business end of a dagger uncomfortably close to his favorite tattoo. “What a greeting, lover,” he said calmly. “I might have preferred your hand just there, however, instead of a blade.”

“Zevran?” Riordan’s voice was hoarse. He pulled Zev into the room, into the light. “What are you doing here?”

“I dropped in for a visit, of course,” Zev said. He carefully retained his pleasant expression, not wanting Riordan to see the shock he felt at the sight of Riordan’s face. “Surely you must be bored sitting around here in the Vigil. Where is everyone, anyway?”

“They are investigating the Wending Wood,” Riordan said. “She took the mage, the young lad Finbar, and Nathaniel Howe. Oghren’s around here somewhere.”

“Wherever the nearest barrel of ale is, you mean,” Zev said, and was glad to see Riordan smile. Judith’s message, faithfully passed on by Daniel, hadn’t exaggerated—the once pleasingly craggy face was haggard, the dark locks much more grey than Zev remembered.

Riordan sank back onto his bed. “I ask you again, Zevran, what are you doing here? Are you here to lift my mood?” There was no teasing in his voice, no raise of the eyebrow to make ‘lift’ a suggestion, and so Zev stayed where he was, leaning back against the door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Perhaps. Would there be a problem with that?”

Groaning, Riordan shook his head. “What is the use? I am close to my Calling, I feel it. Do not waste your energy on me—let me go into the good night.”

“Is there anything good about the night you face?” Zev asked. His eyes held Riordan’s. “Because your face tells a different story. It says the night is dark with horror and fills you with fear.”

“What do you know about facing death?” Riordan asked. He got up, walking to the window. “I have seen it in my own face for thirty years. Why should everyone else not see it there now?”

A small smile played on Zev’s lips. “I, too, have seen death in my own face. Perhaps not for thirty years … but for nearly as long as I can remember. I have been death, creeping on soft feet to my victims; I have known what it is to see death hovering over me, waiting to pounce. Being a Crow does not necessarily run in the blood, but it is as much a taint as if it did.”

“Then you know,” Riordan said. “What it is like to watch others pass who are not prepared.”

“The people who died here were Grey Wardens, just as you are,” Zev said. “You do them a disservice to assume that you are somehow more prepared.”

“So many of them had wives, Zevran, people they cared about.” 

Zev let that pass. Neither of them were men who believed in flowery sentiment and overblown vows of eternal devotion. Not sincere ones, anyway.

“If I had been here, I could have perhaps bought the lives of those with something yet to live for, with my own.” He clenched his hand into a fist and pounded at the wall. “But I was not here! And they died.”

“And you would have saved them all? What of the people who are dying right now? Somewhere an old man takes his last breath peacefully in bed, somewhere else a brigand’s blade slits the throat of his victim, in another place a person falls from a horse and breaks a neck. Death comes for us all, Riordan. He cannot be prevented when he is bent on the kill.”

“They were my friends,” Riordan said softly, more to himself than to Zev.

“Everyone is someone’s friend. If they are very lucky,” Zev said. “Let me ask you this, my lover.” He crossed the room, one hand closing warmly on the other man’s shoulder. “Had you fallen when you attempted to slay the Archdemon, would you have wished someone else to die in your place?” Riordan’s head snapped around, his eyes blazing. Zev nodded. “Exactly so. It was your right, your privilege, to face the Archdemon and the darkspawn. You would not have thanked anyone who stood in your way. Your friends and companions here in the Vigil, they faced the darkspawn. It is what Grey Wardens do, and they gave their lives to it long ago. Mourn them if you will, but do not think of them as victims. They were warriors, and should be remembered with honor.” Riordan bowed his head, but he didn’t speak. So Zev went on. “Do not use their deaths as an excuse to hasten your own.”

“What is it you want from me, Zevran?” Riordan’s voice was so quiet Zev had to lean closer to hear. “We have made no promises, shared no deep feelings. Why is it that you are here now, not out chasing your next conquest?”

Zev chuckled softly. “Do you know, I have not asked myself that question. I received the message that you were suffering, and I came. It was as simple as that.”

“Do you want to prevent my death? That seems strange, after all that you have said just now. After all, death comes for us all, correct?”

“Not like this,” Zev said, his voice unusually savage. “When it is your time, I will walk with you to the entrance of the Deep Roads, I will give you the warrior’s sendoff you deserve. But I will not stand by and see you fade into nothing this way.”

At that, Riordan turned. He threaded his hands into Zev’s hair, holding his face still while he looked deep into the elf’s eyes, seeing an emotion there that Zev could not have put into words if he’d wanted to. He bent his head, feeling the warm yield of Zev’s mouth and body against his. Riordan’s hands left Zev’s hair, wrapping around the elf’s body and pulling him close. Zev’s arms found their way around Riordan’s neck. Their kiss was slow and thorough. As it went on, the hands that had clung began to explore and the bodies shifted restlessly together, seeking that delicious friction. Without breaking the kiss, Riordan lifted Zev, wrapping the elf’s legs around his waist and pushing him gently against the door, their pelvises rubbing slowly. Zev moaned, leaning his head back against the door as Riordan bit his neck and nipped at his shoulder. The sharpness of the pain contrasted with the lazy warm pump of Riordan’s erection against his own had Zev’s senses whirling. When Riordan grasped Zev’s hands, holding them against the door while the taller man devoured Zev’s mouth, it pushed Zev into a frenzy.

“Riordan,” he gasped. 

The Grey Warden chuckled deep in his throat, pleased to have made Zev cry out first. He let his lover down, both of them stripping rapidly before they fell into each other’s arms on the bed. Zev pinned Riordan to the bed by the shoulders, his mouth starting at his lover’s jawline and trailing down slowly over Riordan’s neck and chest and stomach before he enveloped Riordan’s length. Riordan hissed, closing his eyes and arching up into the heat and warmth. He felt as though the cocoon of fog that had surrounded him since his arrival at the Vigil was lifting, and his senses were suddenly sharpened and alive. The taste of Zev’s mouth still lingering on his tongue, the exotic scent that always hung about the elf, the teasing dance of Zev’s tongue on his length, the little moans Zev made as he suckled—the look on Zev’s face as he climbed back up his lover’s body, coming in for another long kiss. Rolling over, Riordan pulled Zev into his arms with a growl, feeling the elf’s legs lift. He fumbled for the jar next to the bed in hasty preparation, and then they both sighed in pleasure as the joining was complete. Riordan reached between them, stroking Zev in time with his own rhythm, leaning down to press small kisses on the elf’s face. 

The peak came almost before they were ready for it, both of them cresting at the same time. There were tender, sleepy kisses and wordless sounds of contentment for some time, but eventually they dropped off to sleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning, they were at breakfast, an energized Riordan trying to beat Oghren’s pancake-eating record, when the two Wardens’ heads snapped up. They were halfway to the front entrance of the Keep when the party from the Wending Woods stumbled in, wounded and exhausted, and trailing a scantily clad blonde elf. 

Zev went immediately to Judith, who had been leaning on the arm of a tall blond man in mage robes. “Commander, are you well?”

“Me?” She looked at him with glassy and unfocused eyes, totally unlike her usual collected look. “Yes, I just …“ Her voice trailed off and she motioned vaguely, heading in the direction of her office.

Riordan followed her, and Oghren glared up at the blond mage. “What did ya do to ‘er, sparkle-fingers?”

The mage looked tired, but not as drained as the others in the party. Young Finbar’s face was pasty, the dark-haired archer’s mouth was set in a grim line, and the blonde elf kept shivering. “Nothing,” the mage said. “It was … someone else.” And in bits and pieces, the four of them told Zev and Oghren about the Architect and their experiences in his underground laboratory.


	12. Comfort

_21 Solace:_

Kylon was in an unusually cheerful mood as he walked through Denerim toward the palace. A victim from the most recent mage robbery had actually seen the woman’s face, so they had a decent picture of her now; Fergus had agreed to go to the Tower and open discussions with Irving about a commission to help the mages and Ferelden transition to their new freedom; and best of all, the sun was shining. He turned his face up to it, letting the warmth soak in. 

“If you do not look where you are going, you are certain to run into trouble,” said a familiar voice. Startled, Kylon put a foot down wrong, twisting his ankle painfully.

“Maker’s blood, Zev, will you stop that?!” he swore, grasping the elf’s shoulder to keep from falling.

“Not as long as it makes you clutch at me so desperately, no,” said Zev.

“You’re back sooner than I expected,” Kylon said, ignoring the innuendo. 

The amused light in Zev’s eyes faded. “You are needed, my friend. Urgently.”

“What’s the trouble?” Kylon looked down into the elf’s face, concerned.

“Our lovely Commander has run into something that disturbed her very much.”

“Judith? Judith’s defeated so many things—” Kylon began automatically, but stopped when Zev shook his head, his face dark.

“Not like this. To hear her colleagues in Amaranthine tell it, she had been working herself too hard already, and then they met this talking darkspawn, an emissary of great power. Something happened—the darkspawn took them captive, I believe. I saw her when they returned, and I tell you, Daniel, there is no time to waste. She needs you—but as we both know, she would never admit that to herself, much less to anyone else.”

“Thank you, Zev,” Kylon said, squeezing his friend’s shoulder.

“She does not know you are coming—otherwise, she would have told me not to trouble you.”

“Almost certainly the wisest course,” Kylon agreed. With a nod to Zev, he turned on his heel, heading for his estate.

It took him only a few minutes to throw some things into a pack and be ready to go. Much as it discomfited him to do so, he ordered his carriage brought around. He hadn’t used the thing a single time since becoming Arl, so it was dusty inside and out, but if it would get him there faster … 

Ivan opened the door for him. “I shall be on the box with the driver, ser.”

“All right,” Kylon agreed impatiently. He’d have preferred to avoid bringing bodyguard and driver, but apparently being Arl meant you could never go anywhere alone again.

The journey was relatively short, the horses well rested and ready for a run, so they rumbled along the roads at a fine pace. They were halted at the gates of the Vigil, a young guard stepping up to the carriage window defiantly. “Who goes there?” he demanded.

“The Arl of Denerim,” Kylon said pleasantly. “I request entry.”

The guard gulped. “Yes, ser.” He gestured to a tall dark-haired woman in armor, who came over to the carriage. 

“Sergeant Maverlies, ser, at your service.” She looked at the device on the carriage door. “The Arl of Denerim, eh? The Commander will be most pleased to see you.” She led Kylon toward the keep, assuring him that his carriage and men would be well looked after.

Kylon followed Maverlies into the Vigil. It was a busy place. The marketplace rang with the sounds of Master Wade’s hammer and tongs, a strange dwarf with blond braids was cackling over a sulphurous concoction, and a group of soldiers was practicing archery. As they went up the steps into the keep itself, Maverlies turned to him. “Ser, I must warn you—the Commander has just finished a session of open court. It was … messy. And the Commander is very tired. We think a lot of her here.”

He smiled reassuringly at the soldier, touched by the display of solicitude. It warmed him to know that Judith’s people were looking out for her. 

A gray-haired man with brown eyes that looked as though they could be merry when there was time met them in the great hall. “Sergeant Maverlies, court is closed for the day. Who is this?”

“Daniel Kylon, ser,” Kylon said, stepping forward. “Arl of Denerim, husband of the Commander of the Grey.”

An expression of relief crossed over the man’s face. “Guy Varel, Seneschal of Vigil’s Keep. I assume the … elf found you?”

Kylon nodded. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs in her room.” Varel hesitated, then said quietly, “It’s good that you’ve come.”

Maverlies led Kylon up the stairs to Judith’s room. He was hard put not to bound up the stairs two at a time, worry and excitement warring within him. At the door, Maverlies knocked. 

A testy but beloved voice answered the knock. “Have I not asked to be left alone? What is it now?”

Kylon nodded to Maverlies, who stepped back from the door but remained in the hallway, watching him. Taking no chances, he thought. Good woman. He rested his forehead against the door, calling through the wood, “Big package from Denerim, my lady.”

There was a pause, and then he nearly fell over as the door was yanked open and a slender body flew into his arms. “Daniel,” she said, clinging to him. “Daniel, you’re here.” And she promptly burst into tears. Kylon gave Maverlies a pointed glance, and the soldier nearly fell over herself trying to get out of the hallway, profoundly embarrassed to have seen the Commander in that condition. He lifted Judith in his arms, carrying her into her room. He sank down on the bed, holding her as she wept and murmuring soft sounds into her hair.

As the tears began to slow, Judith pulled back from him. She hiccuped, and Daniel tenderly used the edge of the sheet to wipe her face. “How did you know to come?” Judith asked, her voice still weak and teary. Then she answered her own question. “Zev, that scamp.”

“He was looking out for you, just like the rest of the denizens of your fortress here,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face. He kissed her on the forehead. 

“I’m fine, really,” she said in a voice that might have deceived someone else. 

“Yes, I could tell,” Daniel said teasingly. 

Judith sniffed, brushing angrily at the tears that still threatened. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you were busy.”

Daniel wasn’t having any more of this. He took her face in his hands, looking her directly in the eye. “I love you, Judith. When a trusted friend tells me you need me, it doesn’t matter how busy I am. Don’t ever worry about that. It’s what we do—we support each other.”

“I … I suppose.” Judith gave him a watery smile. “I’ve missed you so much!”

He dipped his head, kissing her tenderly on the cheek and on the nose and then finding her lips with his own. Judith clung to him, her mouth softening under his. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be with him this way—to be able to trust someone so completely, to be able to share her burdens instead of always having to be in charge. 

Daniel felt the change in her, the easing of the tension in her muscles. “Now,” he said, softly but firmly, “tell me.” His arms tightened around her as he sat back against the headboard. Judith rested her head against his chest. She told him in quick, terse sentences about the elf Keeper Velanna, who had terrorized the Wending Wood in the mistaken impression that humans had killed her sister. She described the Dalish encampment where the darkspawn, incredibly, had framed the humans for their own massacre. And then her voice faltered as she talked of going into the Deep Roads and of the creature—not human or darkspawn, but something in between—who had found them there.

“He … I didn’t even step onto the rune, Daniel, but it glowed anyway, and he—he was in my head, making me sleepy. Worse than any demon.” Judith shivered, and Daniel held her more closely. “I woke in some kind of laboratory. Things … bubbling, dripping. I was tied to a table, and he took some of my blood. Like the Chantry, but at least I knew what they wanted it for. Daniel, whatever he’s doing, whatever he’s … making, I helped him!”

“No.” He said it firmly, directly into her ear. “You were captured. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

“Except not go in there.”

“You could never have left the Wood without searching for Velanna’s sister, or investigating those darkspawn. You were doing your job,” he said. “You’d do it the same way again if you had to.”

Judith was silent for a few moments. “That’s not the worst part.”

His poor love, Daniel thought. “What was?”

“He—the darkspawn, the Architect, he’s called—imprisoned us, took our belongings. Seranni—Velanna’s sister—she ‘s a ghoul, under this Architect’s thrall. She managed to slip us a key, and we escaped through the tunnels, but Daniel! There were Wardens down there, Grey Wardens, half-dead of the taint, and they were wearing our gear and using our own weapons against us. It was … it was like being replaced. And poor Riordan, those must have been his friends. How can I tell him? I can’t tell him that.” She shuddered. “We got all our gear back eventually, and we sent the Wardens to the Maker, but the Architect got away, and … I can’t get over the idea that we were somehow being tested. Like rats in a cage.” 

What could he possibly say to that? Daniel thought despairingly. What she was facing here was so much more than they’d ever expected. At last, he said, “So you’ll go after him. You won’t let him get away with it, whatever he’s doing.”

“Well, of course,” she said indignantly. Her voice had strengthened for a moment, but when she spoke again it was small and soft again. “But … what if he does it again?”

“You’re ready for him this time. He took you by surprise before, but he won’t be able to again.” Daniel stroked her cheek. “You started with just two novice Grey Wardens and you took down an Archdemon. A talking darkspawn, no matter how powerful, can’t stand against you.”

She turned to look for him, a smile starting to glimmer. “You and your optimism.”

“It’s a gift,” he said, grinning at her. 

“You’re a gift,” Judith murmured. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling his head down for a long kiss. When it was over, they were both breathing heavily. Daniel rolled gently on top of her, feeling her hands slide down his back and under his shirt. He kissed her again, their tongues dancing together. His hands moved in her hair, finding the pins and removing them until the blonde strands fell softly around her face. 

“My beautiful wife,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “I have missed you.” He tugged at the hem of her tunic until Judith sat up and let him pull it off her. The breastband went next. Daniel took her breasts into his hands, his mouth finding one nipple and then the other, suckling and gently biting, her soft sighs inflaming him. His hands moved down over her stomach to the laces of her leggings, tugging clumsily until the laces came undone. As Judith lay back into the pillows, Daniel hastily shucked his own clothes and pulled off her leggings and smallclothes.

He ran a hand slowly up her calf and the inside of her thigh. Judith held her breath, lifting her hips to encourage his hand to move where she ached for his touch. Instead, she felt his tongue there, delicately tasting. Judith twisted her hands in the covers, moaning.

As she neared the peak, she reached down, grabbing his shoulders desperately, needing to feel him deep inside her. Daniel needed little encouragement. He guided himself to her entrance. Looking into her eyes, he slid inside her, his hips pumping slowly. Judith wrapped her legs around his waist, thrusting back at him as the pleasure rose to a crescendo and she cried out, clinging to him. 

Daniel felt her tighten around him, the sensation so exquisite that it pushed him over the edge after her. He shifted to his side, drawing Judith against him. She cuddled close, her head against his chest. His heartbeat against her ear was like a lullaby. Completely exhausted as she was, Judith was asleep in moments, but Daniel lay awake for a long time, cradling her in his arms and wishing he never had to leave her alone again.


	13. Melanie

_22 Solace:_

Daniel came to wakefulness when the body in his arms moved. Instinctively, his arms tightened. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked sleepily.

“It’s morning, darling. I have to get up. Duties, you know.”

“I hate that word,” he grumbled. He cuddled closer, relishing her warmth and the smooth silk of her skin against him. His hands roamed, one finding her soft breast, the thumb brushing over the nipple until it hardened beneath his touch.

Judith moaned, pressing against him involuntarily. Daniel took that as encouragement, and the hand left her breast to spread warmth down her belly. His mouth nipped at the back of her neck as his hand found the heat between her legs, stroking the delicate folds. Judith closed her eyes, her whole body on fire. His fingers delved inside her, his other hand coming up to cup and squeeze her breasts, his mouth busy at her neck, nibbling softly. She pumped desperately in rhythm with him, so close, until his thumb brushed over the aching spot that needed his attention the most. She cried out, tumbling over the edge as his hand continued its ministrations, prolonging her enjoyment. 

As her breathing returned to normal, she became aware of Daniel’s hardness pressing against her back, and Judith rolled over, her mouth meeting his hungrily. As their tongues tangled together, she pushed him onto his back, climbing on top of him. Breaking the kiss, she raised up, taking him deep inside her. Daniel groaned, pushing up to meet her, entranced by the sight of her above him this way. As she rocked on him, she brought his hands up, placing them on her breasts. Slowly, they moved together until they reached the peak, climbing and falling together.

Judith bent down to kiss him again. “Did I thank you for coming yet?”

“Oh, I think so. Most eloquently,” he grinned. “But you could thank me again later. I won’t mind.” 

“I don’t know,” Judith said, “I’ll be awfully busy.” 

“Busy, eh?” Daniel tickled her in the ribs. Judith shrieked in laughter, a sound Daniel was delighted to hear. 

In the midst of the tickle battle, in which Judith discovered that Daniel’s neck was particularly ticklish, a knock sounded on the door.

“Commander?” It was Varel’s voice. Judith sighed. Duty couldn’t be put off for long.

“Yes, Varel?” She climbed out of bed, searching for her clothing.

“A letter has arrived, ser.” 

Judith tugged on the breastpiece of her armor, turning around to let Daniel lace it up for her. As Judith reached for her hairbrush, Daniel sighed, pulling his clothes on. Just once, he wanted the morning to begin without someone pounding on the door.

“Who’s the letter from, Varel?” Judith asked. She went to the door, opening it. Varel stepped inside, his eyes flickering over Daniel and back to Judith, who was twisting her hair into her usual neat bun.

“Ser Tamra.”

Judith paused in what she was doing, speaking around a mouthful of pins. “I thought you said Ser Tamra was murdered. We imprisoned that man …”

“Ser Temmerly.”

“Ser Temmerly, pending an investigation,” Judith continued. She shoved the last pin into her hair. 

“Ser Tamra is dead. She must have sent this letter before she was killed.” He handed it over. Judith broke the seal, her eyes moving rapidly over the parchment. She sighed heavily.

“As we thought, Varel. It’s Bann Esmerelle. Ser Tamra said she was close to finding proof of the conspiracy. Poor soul, she tried to worm her way in, pretending to be one of the conspirators. She was killed trying to save my life.”

Daniel could see Judith’s shoulders sagging as the weight of responsibility settled more firmly onto them, and he felt helpless against the onslaught. “I’ll ask around about Bann Esmerelle when I get back to Denerim,” he said quietly. “Perhaps someone there knows something about her.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Judith said distractedly. She looked up at Varel. “Are the others at breakfast?”

“Yes, ser,” he said. 

“Then let’s go on down and tell them about all this.” 

The large dining hall seemed practically empty with just the few Wardens at breakfast in it. Daniel recognized Riordan, looking considerably older now; Oghren, drunk and loud, even at this hour; and Finbar, who had the same youthful energy in his face, but seemed paler and less enthusiastic. With them were a dark-haired man in armor, who ate steadily, letting the conversation flow around him; a blond man in mage robes who, with Oghren, seemed to be carrying on most of the conversation; and a female elf in very skimpy armor—skimpier than anything Morrigan had worn—who made a face at every bite of food she put in her mouth.

“Daniel!” Riordan said, standing up to greet the newcomer. “I heard you were here. No wonder we haven’t seen the Commander yet this morning.” He grinned at both of them.

“Come sit down—I been savin’ a mug for ya!” Oghren bellowed, waving his around. Droplets of ale splashed from it, and Oghren bent to lick them off the table.

The dark-haired man looked up, watching Kylon walk toward the table. The elf glared at him, a reaction he was fairly well used to from elves. And the blond mage turned around, looking Kylon up and down with frank interest.

“Daniel, this is Nathaniel Howe, Velanna, and Anders.” Judith said, pointing at the three of them in turn. “Everyone, this is my husband Daniel.”

Nathaniel nodded, Velanna raised an eyebrow, and Anders stood up, holding out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you finally, Daniel.” Judith was right, he did look like Alistair. Sounded like him, too. It was a bit disconcerting. “I’ve heard a great deal about you from two very fine women.”

It took Kylon a moment, but then he remembered. “Melanie? My sister talked about me?”

“Her pesky little brother who used to steal her hairpins? No, not at all.” Anders grinned. 

“I see we have quite a bit to talk about,” Kylon said. “You mind if I ask you about your escape?”

“Ask away,” Anders said cheerfully.

“Why don’t the two of you go sit over there,” Judith suggested, “for some privacy, and I’ll brief everyone over here. Anders, you can catch up later.”

“Yes, ser,” Anders said. He retrieved his plate, following Kylon to the table Judith had suggested. A servant came by, putting Kylon’s plate down in front of him, and he poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the center of the table. “Not going to take Oghren up on his offer of an extra mug?” Anders asked, grinning.

“It takes a special stomach to drink like Oghren,” Kylon said. “Have you tried any of that stuff?”

“He lost me at ‘pickle juice’,” Anders said. “So you want to know about your sister.”

“Please,” Kylon said. “Anything you can tell me.”

“You mind if I edit some of the more, um, personal bits?” Anders said.

“If you mean that you laid hands on my sister, I beg you to tell me nothing,” Kylon said. He grinned at the mage. “Remember, in my mind, she’s still 12.”

“Oh, she’s not 12 any …” Anders began with a risque chuckle, but sobered when Kylon glared at him. “Right. 12, or as chaste as the driven snow. So—”

“Was she a good mage?” Kylon asked, interrupting. “Sorry, it’s just … I don’t know anything about her after the Templars took her away. My mother went to the Chantry asking after her countless times, but they never told us anything.”

“Your mother asked about her?” Anders asked in surprise. “Wasn’t she afraid?”

“Of what? The Chantry?”

“Of your sister.”

Kylon nodded, understanding. “No—we just wanted to know she was all right.”

“Wow,” Anders said softly. “It never occurred to me that there might be families out there who felt that way.”

“Did you leave a family behind?” Kylon asked.

“Me? No.” Anders shook his head. “Raised on the streets. Never knew my parents. Most of my years in the Tower, I was pretty happy about that—having a family to leave behind was nothing but misery.”

“For Melanie, too?” Kylon took a bite of eggs.

“Yeah. She wasn’t one for sharing her feelings, you understand—kept a lot inside—but she’d talk about her little brother occasionally, tell stories about how pesky and annoying you were. Even I could tell how much she missed you.”

Kylon looked down at his plate to cover the emotions that rose in him. “Did she have a lot of friends?”

Anders shrugged. “She knew a lot of people, but I don’t know if anyone was particularly close to her. To answer your question, though, yes, she was a good mage. Interesting ideas, good at research. But quiet about it.”

“How did you know her so well, then?”

“Me?” Anders grinned. “She fancied me.” Kylon frowned at him, and his grin widened. “She was my teacher when I was an apprentice, and after my Harrowing—you know what that is, right?” At Kylon’s nod, Anders went on, “We used to meet in the library to, um, read fairytales together.” One eyebrow quirked up suggestively.

“My sister, remember?” Kylon said, groaning.

Anders tried to look abashed, and failed miserably. “Anyway,” he said, “one day she says she’s planning on escaping, and did I want to go along.”

“Did you?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You’re telling me every single mage wanted out of the Tower.” Kylon looked at him skeptically.

“Well, okay, no. But by that point, Melanie knew I did. Wanted it so bad I used to hang out the window wondering if I could heal myself if I jumped.”

“Interesting question,” Kylon said. He finished the last of his eggs and started cutting the ham. “You ever try it?”

“Escape number 3,” Anders said. “And no, I couldn’t. If Wynne hadn’t happened to see me jump, you’d be talking to a ghost right now. Anyway, back to Melanie. Of course, I agreed to go along. I was a bit disappointed by the condition she placed on the escape—that we’d have to separate immediately.”

“Why was that?” Kylon asked.

“As I learned from escape number 2,” Anders said, “it’s much too easy to track two mages.”

“Then why did she bring you along?”

“I think looking for me took their attention off her. Once we split up, the Templars found me pretty fast.”

“But how did you get out? Isn’t it supposed to be incredibly difficult?”

Anders raised his eyebrows. “You’re talking to someone who escaped 7 times. Getting out isn’t so hard … not getting caught is the issue.”

“So why wasn’t Melanie caught?”

Anders’s brown eyes met Kylon’s. “Because somehow she learned how to suppress her magic. When she chose, Melanie could, to all intents and purposes, stop being a mage.”


	14. Amaranthine

Kylon stared at Anders in shock. “Stop being a mage? Can you do that?”

Anders shook his head. “I can’t. But Melanie could.”

“Did she ever tell you how to do it?”

“No. I think she was afraid to say anything—no telling what might have happened if the Templars knew she could do that. It explains how confident she was that she wasn’t going to be found, especially once the Templars focused their attention on me instead.”

“If she could suppress her magic, why would she destroy her phylactery?” Kylon asked, thinking aloud.

“She did that?”

“Not long after you escaped, apparently.”

“Hmph,” Anders snorted. “And she couldn’t have destroyed mine while she was at it? There’s gratitude for you.”

Kylon held his breath, wondering if Anders would ask about where the phylacteries were now, an answer the Chantry refused to give even the King. Alistair was petitioning, but so far there had been no response to his appeals. “Did you ever tell anyone that Melanie could suppress her magic?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I didn’t. I wasn’t about to be questioned by the Templars about something I didn’t even know how to do. Besides, I thought I had a better chance of figuring out how she did it if I didn’t mention it to anyone. Once someone else found out … well, you know what they say about secrets.”

“I take it you never figured it out, then.”

“No. I even tried getting a straight answer out of Owain.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s a Tranquil—he’s in charge of the stockroom at the Tower, has been for some time. The way I heard it, he and Melanie were close as apprentices, but the rumor went that he dabbled in blood magic and had to be made Tranquil. She never went to the stockroom, now that I think of it. I guess I can understand it, too, having to see someone you were close to once with no feelings—none at all—and little thought. It has occurred to me that maybe Owain knew that Melanie was working on learning how to suppress her magic. Maybe he was working on it, too, and the Chantry found out and made him Tranquil to keep him under their control. If we could suppress our magic at will, live perfectly normal lives outside the Chantry … that would be the Chantry’s worst nightmare,” Anders said bitterly.

“Given this a lot of thought, have you?” Kylon asked.

“Of course,” Anders acknowledged. “And not just because I wanted to be free. I wanted to find her.” There was something in his eyes that gave Kylon pause—what had his sister meant to this man in front of him? 

The meeting at the other table broke up, and Kylon and Anders got up to mingle with the others. 

“Arl of Denerim, hm? The two of you are quite the powerful couple.” Nathaniel Howe’s voice was deep and smooth, and it was impossible for Kylon to tell what he was thinking. 

Kylon held Nathaniel’s eyes steadily. “Neither of those appointments were my idea. Or hers,” he said. “And I’d have married her regardless. I’d like to think she’d say the same.”

“Fair enough.” Nathaniel nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I have all the work of Arlhood without the title.” He stalked off, leaving Kylon staring after him.

“He’s an acquired taste,” Anders said, grinning at Kylon’s confusion.

As Nathaniel crossed the room, Velanna got up, moving toward the door as well, causing Nathaniel to bump into her. She gave him a withering look, and Nathaniel stepped back, waving her ahead with a cold, elaborate bow.

“Is it just me,” said Kylon, “or did she get in his way on purpose?”

Anders sighed. “It looks like the brooding archer takes the girl this time, rather than the charming and witty mage. Still,” he added, “maybe if she starts tending his tree regularly they’ll both be in better moods.”

“Little too much time with Oghren, I think,” Kylon said, and Anders grinned.

“He grows on you. Like a germ.” 

“You might want to get that treated, then.” 

Anders laughed outright at that. “You know, it’s good she found herself a man with a sense of humor. We used to call her the Ice Princess in the Tower, and there were bets on whether anyone could truly melt her.”

“Did they?” Kylon found himself suddenly intensely curious about Judith’s past in the Tower. Had there been anyone special there?

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Anders said. “I’ll happily gossip about anyone else, but the Commander’s past is strictly off limits.”

“At least, it is if Anders knows what’s good for him,” Judith said, coming up behind Kylon. “Isn’t there someplace you’re supposed to be right now, Anders?” she asked pointedly, and Anders assumed a mock-terrified expression and dashed off. 

“I see what you mean about him,” Kylon said. “Alistair’s looks and Zev’s personality. Disturbing.”

“It is, rather,” Judith agreed. She took Kylon’s arm, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I didn’t get around to asking, can you stay? We’re supposed to go to the Blackmarsh, looking for a missing Warden. Kristoff. He’s probably dead, but he was researching the Architect.” She couldn’t suppress her shudder, and Daniel put his arm around her. “Anything he might have found out would be worth it. Plus, the Blackmarsh is supposed to be haunted,” she added brightly. “It could be fun.”

Daniel smiled at her. “You have a warped sense of fun, then,” he said. He sobered. “Unfortunately, I really can’t stay. There’s a situation in Denerim—“ He broke off uncomfortably. With everything she had going on, did he want to burden her with the knowledge of what some of her fellow mages were doing with their new freedom? He couldn’t do that to her. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he added reassuringly, “but I do have to be there.”

“How is Alistair?” Judith asked wistfully. 

“Frustrated. Loghain keeps coming back—apparently farming dead, blighted land isn’t nearly as interesting as needling his son-in-law. So the two of them are at dagger-points, but politely, of course, and Anora’s ready to throw them both in Fort Drakon. Teagan and Fergus and I have all tried talking to him, but you know Alistair.” 

Judith smiled affectionately at her husband’s casual mention of three of Ferelden’s most powerful men by their first names. He was growing more comfortable with nobility. She felt a pang, thinking of him building a whole life as Arl of Denerim without her. Were there other women, high-born women skilled in the arts of flattery and of drawing men’s attention, who were waiting to pounce when he was vulnerable? She clung to him more tightly. “Maybe I should come back to Denerim,” she said, “talk to Alistair myself.”

“Please do,” Daniel said, and the light in his eyes at the thought made Judith feel even more guilty that she couldn’t be with him all the time. 

“Let me figure out what this Architect is up to, and I’ll come back. I promise,” she said, reaching up to kiss him.

“Aw, get a room,” Oghren bellowed from the table. “Or ask the rest of us to join!” He chortled lustily.

Kylon started to toss off a jovial reply, but he remembered Shianni and stopped himself just in time. He wished he knew where she’d gone. She wasn’t in Denerim, so where was she? He forced a smile for Oghren and turned his attention back to Judith. “I can stay for the day, if you’re not planning on rushing off to the Blackmarsh immediately.”

“That sounds good,” she said. “We have to reoutfit, anyway.” 

“Who are you taking?” Kylon asked curiously. 

“Oghren,” she said decisively. “He’s sturdy in a fight and not so likely to run if he sees a ghost.”

“You really think the Blackmarsh is haunted?” They were walking out of the dining hall now, toward the front entrance of the Keep. Judith was too pale—he wanted to see her get some sun while he was there.

“That’s the rumor. Nathaniel certainly thinks it is.”

“I’m surprised he’d admit to being inconvenienced by a few ghosts.”

“Oh, he doesn’t. Mostly complains about it. I think I’ll leave him here, though—he’ll be happier, and more useful, running the Arling full-time. As long as Riordan’s better, he’s as good at locks and traps as Nathaniel, and more proficient with daggers.”

“Zev certainly seems to have worked wonders on Riordan’s mood,” Daniel said. He stopped at the edge of the parapet, looking out over the city. 

“You did a good job getting him here so quickly,” Judith said. “I suppose he was just sitting around Denerim, enjoying his leisure time and the fact that no one’s trying to kill him?”

“Oh, I think there are a few cuckolded husbands—and at least one wife—who would like to see Zev’s head on a pike,” Daniel said, chuckling affectionately. It occurred to him that they hadn’t told Judith about Zev tracking Morrigan, either. “He wanders a bit, but we agreed on a system so I can get hold of him if I need to.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely, though?” sighed a wistful voice from behind them, in a passable Antivan accent.

Daniel jumped, whirling around. “Zev, will you—Riordan!” he cried, scandalized. “Isn’t one of you enough?”

Riordan laughed. “What can I say, I was promised most interesting rewards if I could pull that on you successfully.”

Judith giggled at Daniel’s reddened cheeks. “I would call that successful, Riordan. You earned your reward.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Riordan’s gaze grew serious. “And thank you to both of you. I know who it was who brought the light into the depths of my despair. Your concern is most appreciated.” He bowed gravely to them both. 

“I’m just glad to see you with your sense of humor back,” Judith teased gently. “You bring some refinement to Anders and Oghren’s constant barrage of innuendo.” More seriously, she said, “You feel up to a trip to the Blackmarsh tomorrow?”

“Indeed. I will be glad to be able to fight demons I can see again, instead of the shadows in my imagination,” Riordan said. “Tomorrow?”

Judith nodded. “The rest of the day I intend to take off, and spend it with my husband.” She put her arms around Daniel, looking up into his eyes, and neither of them noticed when Riordan made his way off the parapet.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Stana lifted her head wearily, her mind barely registering the sound of a voice echoing in the stone hallways. She wondered fuzzily where she was, but she couldn’t focus, thoughts sliding away before she could fully form them. Stana tried to move, bringing a hand up to her face. She wasn’t shackled. But why did her hand smell like blood? It was wet, too. Sticky. 

A bright light shone into the room, then was gone. There was the sound of a metal bolt being shot home. 

A new voice nudged at Stana’s fading consciousness. A familiar woman’s voice whispered something in her ear, something about the Maker? Stana wanted to listen, but there was warmth in the darkness, if she could just reach it. A door opening? She could see the lumpy yellow landscape of the Fade through it, the Black City just visible, waiting there for her. All she had to do was step through, so easy— 

Stana’s head fell back onto the floor, lifeless, and a hand reached out, gently closing her eyelids. “May the Maker accept your soul with forgiveness, Stana,” whispered a voice. The mage Keili sat back on her heels, waiting patiently for those who had captured her to come and deliver her Maker-ordained punishment for being born a mage.


	15. Concealment

_30 Solace:_

Judith took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She’d already splattered ink all over the desk and ruined several quills in her haste to get her vitriol down on paper. Finally, she managed to get her hands to stop shaking enough to finish writing.

_Dear Daniel,  
What sodding arrogance! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you and Alistair sit there in Denerim and think that you could lie to me and not tell me things and I would never know? That no one would tell me that Fergus Cousland had been sent to the Tower to form a sodding commission to oversee the mages because they couldn’t be trusted with their freedom? Or that I wouldn’t hear about the fact that two mages have been terrorizing Denerim, stealing everything that’s not nailed down? For Andraste’s sake, Daniel, I could have helped! But oh, no—you had to pat me on the head and tell me it was ‘nothing you couldn’t handle’. Apparently you can’t handle it! So I get back from a week in the blasted Blackmarsh only to find out that my own husband has been keeping things from me that I should have been told of. You’d better have a damned good explanation.  
The Blackmarsh, of course, was haunted. By a pride demon. So we got trapped in the Fade; had to fight the demon; discovered there’s another darkspawn out there—called the Mother, creepily enough—who’s building an army and we’re caught right in the middle of some kind of darkspawn civil war; and brought back the strangest recruit the Grey Wardens have ever known. Kristoff is definitely dead … but his body has been taken over by a Fade spirit who calls himself Justice. Come to think of it, I think that makes him a Warden, and not a recruit, since he has all Kristoff’s memories and knowledge. Unfortunately, when we got back to the Keep with Kristoff’s decaying possessed body in tow, who should meet us here but Kristoff’s wife, Aura. She’s a lovely woman, but justifiably angry with me right now for desecrating her husband’s body. But I need every blade I can get—how could I turn down a Fade spirit? He didn’t choose to be in Kristoff’s body, but he’s here and I need him. He looks at everyone as though they’re a fascinating specimen. Nathaniel and Velanna are spitting at each other all over the Vigil. I’d like to order them to go to bed and get it over with because they’re driving us all crazy, but they seem to be enjoying their extended mating dance. (Given their temperaments, driving the rest of us crazy probably makes it that much better.) Everyone else seems fine so far.  
Next time I hear from or see you, I expect to be fully informed of everything that’s happening with the mages. If you treat me like a fragile doll, I won’t be able to trust you. And please tell Alistair I expected better from him.  
Judith_  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----   
_2 August:_

Kylon put the letter back in his pocket, sighing. She was absolutely right. No question about it. But how could he have added to her burdens? He’d gone to the Vigil to relieve them, not to make things worse for her. 

He looked around the Market District, hoping to catch sight of Rook. This was challenging since he didn’t know what Rook looked like. He moved forward, hoping Rook would find him. And further hoping that Rook knew something about the conspiracy brewing in Amaranthine that was threatening Judith’s life. He hated to think of Judith there, vulnerable to attack, leading every mission herself, not knowing who might be lurking around the corner.

Lady Habren was shopping again—always a good sign for the economy, Kylon thought. He moved slowly through the stalls, looking around him for anything out of the ordinary. 

“Arl Kylon!” a voice called. He turned to see Ser Ignacio coming toward him. The balding Crow bowed pleasantly as he reached Kylon.

“Ser Ignacio, a pleasure to see you,” Kylon said. “How are you finding this heat?”

“Ah, it feels like Antiva,” Ignacio said with a smile. “So warm and sunny—Cesar and I feel as though we’re at home. There are other ways it feels like Antiva, as well,” he said more quietly. 

“Care to elaborate?” Kylon asked.

“My colleagues in Amaranthine have been approached with a contract.”

“On the Commander?” Kylon’s heart jumped into his throat. 

Ignacio nodded. “They have been instructed to refuse, not to worry about that,” he said with a smile, “but we thought you should know the attempt was made. Amateurs can be … lucky, sometimes.”

Kylon stepped closer to Ignacio, speaking very quietly. “Do you know who was behind the approach?”

“Now we begin to near what you might call a ‘gray area’,” Ignacio said. “You see, if it were to get out that the Crows spoke about those who attempt to contract with them … you see how that might be bad for business. Discretion, we find, is its own reward.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way to change your mind …” Kylon let the words trail off, casually jingling the coins in his pockets.

“Should you come and shop in our store and we fall into a discussion of the purchasing preferences of certain nobility, I believe that could be a workable solution,” Ignacio said, a feral grin lighting his features. 

“So glad we understand each other,” Kylon murmured. He followed Ignacio to the stall. Several minutes later he emerged with an entirely useless (and heavily overpriced) statue of a bronto, and confirmation that Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine was behind the attacks. He’d met Esmerelle at the Landsmeet—she’d made a pointed comment about the bastard king and his preference for commoners. The question was, what could he do about it? He had no proof, only the word of an Antivan Crow. Word that would not be repeated in court, even if there was a chance it could have stood up there. 

As he stood there, considering his options, a disturbance began on the other side of the Market District, and Kylon looked up to see several people standing amid blocks of ice and others scrambling to get away from a small hooded figure. The elf mage! he thought. He dropped back, looking around for Ivan the ever-present. Sure enough, his guard was only a few steps behind him. Kylon gestured quietly to the hooded figure, only to watch as circles of light began to form around Ivan. The man’s eyes widened in panic as he found himself unable to move.

“Sod it!” Kylon spat quietly. He drew back to the edge of the crowd. A tall woman with unkempt hair came out into the open area of the market. She waved her hands around in the air, drawing some kind of pattern, and electricity began to arc over the heads of the mob, drawing all eyes upward. 

“If you’ll all keep quiet, no one will be hurt!” she cried. “Just empty your pockets and purses into the baskets, and you’ll be allowed to go free.” Kylon noticed for the first time that all the urchins underfoot carried baskets. The children were spreading through the crowd, collecting people’s valuables. Grudgingly, he had to admit it was smart. Street kids were cheap, plentiful labor.

The elf mage pushed his hood back, grinning cockily, as he froze people right and left. He swigged a lyrium potion and froze Lady Habren’s guards. Then he turned, his hands pointing toward a dwarf with a tidy ginger-colored beard. The spell swirled around the dwarf’s head, but didn’t settle. The elf mage didn’t watch long enough to notice, however, turning away to the next victim. As Kylon continued to edge toward the female mage, trying to avoid being noticed, he saw the ginger-haired dwarf pull a sword from a rack of weapons. The dwarf limped badly from some kind of leg wound, but he held the sword like a seasoned warrior. 

Kylon drew his own blade as he approached the woman, coming up behind her. The scrape of the sword against the scabbard seemed loud in his ears, and he saw the mage pause in what she was doing. He raised the sword above her head, ready to strike her with the pommel—he wanted her alive, after all, but how did you hold a mage against her will without Templar abilities? But before he could bring the sword down, the woman whirled, seizing Kylon’s arm. Electricity jolted through his body, and he felt himself flailing before darkness closed in on him.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
At the bar of a seedy tavern near the gates of Denerim, a man lifted a heavy mug to his lips. He pretended to drink and put the mug back down. As he sat there, a woman in cheap chainmail came into the tavern. She crossed the room, taking a seat next to the man. When she ordered a whiskey from the nondescript bartender, it was in a heavy brogue.

“Warm, isn’t it?” the man asked casually.

“Miserable summer,” she groused. She drank deeply, and the man forgot himself long enough to look at her in disgust.

“Work successful?”

“Not so far.” She held her glass out for a refill. 

They sat there in silence for a few moments, then the man said, “Any news from the road?”

The woman looked at the row of empty seats to her right, then at the raucously drunk elves seated on the man’s left, and shook her head. “No, no news. It’s all a ruddy failure,” she whispered fiercely. “We need more material. And I know just the one.” Her eyes glittered hungrily. “He can’t get away from me forever!”

The man didn’t look at her, but out of the side of his mouth hissed, “That one is strictly off limits, and you know it. Entirely too high profile.”

“Take the Ice Princess, too. Solve all our problems.” The woman grinned wolfishly.

“Shut up, you drunken waste of a blade!” The man bit the words off. He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back. “Sleep it off,” he told the woman, privately resolving to eliminate her. Too many failures had pushed Rylock over the edge. Sad. He tossed a few coins onto the counter.

The nondescript bartender looked up briefly at the man, but his trained memory noted every detail of the man’s face. “Thank ye kindly, guv.” He refilled the woman’s glass and leaned on the bar. “So what’s a nice girl like you doin’ in a joint like this?”


	16. Recovery

Kylon stirred in his bed, groaning. His whole body felt jittery, as though the mage’s lightning was still moving through his system. 

“He wakes,” he heard a familiar voice whisper. Opening his eyes, he saw Sanga coming toward him. “Many people have been asking for you,” she said. “Your friends will be here in a moment.”

“Why am I here?” he croaked, sitting up in the bed. 

Sanga smiled. “Because I have a healer on my staff, something which none of you nobles seem to have thought to provide yourselves with.”

Kylon blinked. “That seems surprising. The mage,” he asked anxiously, “did she get away?”

“She did. And the elf mage was killed.” Her eyes narrowed venomously. “I would have liked to have killed him myself,” she said. “For my carpets. No one robs Sanga in her own Pearl!” She drew herself up importantly. Just then, a knock came at the door.

Sanga opened it, and Alistair burst in, looking at Kylon with concern. “You all right?”

“Fine.” Kylon nodded. He grinned as Teagan and Fergus appeared behind Alistair. “What, did you all think I died or something?”

“You were electrocuted,” Alistair said. “So, yeah.”

“It is useful to have a mage on staff,” Sanga said complacently.

“Do none of us have a healer on hand?” Kylon asked.

The other three looked at each other.

“All right, time to remedy that, then. What else have I missed?” Kylon started to push the covers aside, then realized he wasn’t wearing anything. He looked up at Sanga. “You have any idea where my clothes got off to?”

“I will go and see if I can locate them,” Sanga said. She eyed him up and down. “It will be a shame,” she said. Her eyes twinkling, she closed the door behind her.

“I hear the elf mage was killed.” Kylon shook his head. “Too bad. I’d have liked to ask him some questions. Still, though, good to have one of them out of the picture. Was it the dwarf?”

Fergus nodded. “We should go talk to him when you’re up. I offered to have him come here for lunch instead, but his father-in-law won’t let him off work.”

“Good idea. He was one of the few who kept a cool head. What were they thinking, attacking such a large open space?” Kylon shook his head.

“From the descriptions we had, it seemed they got cocky and thought they could do anything they wanted.”

“It would’ve worked, too, if the elf’s spell hadn’t bounced off the dwarf. And of course, if you hadn’t distracted the female mage.” Alistair grinned. “I guess they’d never counted on someone with your … experience with mages.”

“Too bad he didn’t try to kiss her,” Fergus joked. “Maybe he wouldn’t have been electrocuted.”

“At least, not until Judith found out,” Teagan said.

“If you’re all quite done?” Kylon said. 

Sanga came in with Kylon’s clothes. “Can I offer you gentlemen some lunch? Or something for … another appetite?” Teagan looked tempted, but after checking his pocket watch sighed and shook his head no. Sanga gave him a disappointed pout. “Another time, then. I am glad you have recovered, my dear Arl,” she said, winking at Kylon as she left the room. 

Kylon looked at Fergus. “How was your talk with Irving?”

“Disturbing,” Fergus said. “There are mages missing.”

“How do they know the mages are missing? I didn’t know anyone was keeping tabs on them,” Kylon said, shrugging into his tunic.

“They’re trying to, at least, but they can’t account for all of them. Irving said he thinks the elf mage, our dead thief, is a boy named Teren, originally from the Alienage in Gwaren. He’s not sure who the woman is, but they’re looking into it. Meanwhile, there are two mages who were supposed to be at the Tower a few weeks ago, and they haven’t been heard from since they left Denerim.”

“Did Irving say anything about the phylacteries?”

“Only that we better damn well find them soon.” Fergus smiled. “Unquote. It seems Irving’s phylactery is still out there, and he’s not pleased that its whereabouts are unknown.”

“Can’t blame him for that,” Alistair said. “The Chantry is still refusing to cough up the location.” He sighed. “The Grand Cleric is not my biggest fan.”

Teagan cleared his throat. “If the mages can be tracked through their blood, is there any chance we could use the elf mage’s blood as some kind of … reverse phylactery? Maybe the tracking goes both ways. Then we could get around the Chantry.”

Kylon stopped with a boot dangling in his hand, staring at Teagan. “That’s quite the idea. Let’s check with Irving. Meantime, let’s make sure that elf mage’s blood is preserved.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the boot on. “It sounds like we need some kind of … census. And a healer for the city.”

“Agreed.” Teagan looked at Alistair. “Not that I mean to rush you, but we do have that meeting with the Rivaini ambassador.”

“All right, if we must,” Alistair said. “I think he’d rather meet with Anora, though.”

“Precisely why he’s meeting with you,” Teagan said dryly. After ensuring that Kylon was feeling fine, they left the room.

Kylon stood up. “Let’s go meet this dwarf, then.”

They arrived at Sarko’s Armor and Weaponry a few minutes later. The ginger-haired dwarf rushed forward. “I’m glad to see you’re well, ser,” he said to Kylon.

“I am, thank you. And I understand you did great service. You killed the elven mage, I hear?”

“Yes. I am sorry about that,” the dwarf said. “I should have thought that he’d be better off alive. My instincts are to kill—you see, I trained in Orzammar, fighting darkspawn.”

“Understandable, then …” Kylon let the words trail off, his voice making the blank space a question.

“Gorim, ser. Gorim Saelac.”

“Daniel Kylon, Gorim, and Fergus Cousland.”

“Of course, sers. It’s an honor to have you in the shop.” Gorim bowed. “Can I show you something in a new sword, perhaps?” 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the fight in the Market District. Do you have a minute?”

Gorim looked nervously toward the back of the shop, then back at the two human nobles in front of him. “Of course. Let’s step outside.” Once outside the shop, he said, “My father-in-law …”

“Ah, yes.” Kylon nodded. “I’ve had a few run-ins with Rock Sarko myself. Good armorer … colorful dwarf.”

“Exactly, ser.”

“But you’re not merchant caste,” Fergus noted. “Not if you trained as a warrior in Orzammar.”

“No, ser.” Gorim turned to Fergus with appreciation. He stood straighter as he spoke. “I was Second to Lady Myrna Aeducan, High Commander of the armies of Orzammar. She was framed by one brother for the murder of the other, and exiled to the Deep Roads. She must have died there.” His brown eyes were soft and faraway, and Kylon could see the sympathy in Fergus as he recognized the face of loss. “At any rate,” Gorim went on sadly, “I was exiled to the surface. Shortly afterward I was wounded—I can’t fight anymore—and then I met my wife Dania. Her father offered me work in his shop, and we have a little one now, and … I’m sorry. I’m sure you weren’t looking for the story of my life.”

“It’s all right,” Kylon said. “I have to say, though, I don’t agree that you can’t fight. I saw you in the Market District, and I was impressed with the way you handled that sword. I have been looking for someone to train the Denerim Guards—they’re in sad shape, I’m afraid. Would you like the job?”

Gorim’s eyes lit up. He looked over his shoulder at the shop, and his face fell.

“Don’t worry,” Kylon said. “The salary you’ll be earning will be more than enough for your father-in-law to hire someone.”

“Maybe someone who was born merchant-caste,” Fergus put in. An understanding look passed between him and Gorim.

“Thank you, ser,” Gorim said, bowing deeply. He seemed lighter suddenly.

Kylon and Fergus took their leave of Gorim, walking through the streets. As they reached the entrance to Fergus’s estate, he paused, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Daniel.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve mentioned before that your mother lives in Highever.”

“Yes, she does. Why?”

“Well … are you planning on visiting her sometime?”

“I hope to, once Judith settles what’s going on in Amaranthine. I’d like her to meet my mother.” 

Fergus stopped walking, looking at Kylon seriously. “I can’t face going back there alone. But I have to—I can’t let them go until I’ve seen—“ He choked back a sob that bubbled up. “And I have to let them go. It’s time.”

Kylon nodded sympathetically. “I understand.”

“When I go … will you come with me?”

“Of course I will, Fergus. If that’s what you want.” He tried to think what he would do if Judith was killed. The days were already long and lonely and frightening with her constantly in danger in another town. Knowing she was gone, the days would be unbearable. And yet, the man in front of him had lost parents, sister, wife, and child, and he managed to move forward. 

“Thank you, my friend.” Fergus turned away, his shoulders slumped. Kylon watched with sympathy as Fergus walked through the courtyard toward his big, empty house.


	17. Trepidation

_8 August:_

Alistair stretched his feet out with a sigh. It might still be summer, but with the rain the past few days, the fire felt good, toasting his sock-clad toes.

“Comfortable?” Anora’s voice was filled with amusement.

“Let’s see,” he said. “Just finished lunch, lunch included lavish cheese tray, now sitting in front of nice warm fire, no meetings to go to, and lovely wife come to join me for some relaxation.” He grinned, taking her hand and pulling her onto his lap. “Comfortable,” he said, “doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Anora’s eyes sparkled. She’d been waiting for a quiet moment alone with him. “Let’s hear you say that in six months, when I’m too big to sit here. Will you still call me lovely, then, I wonder?” She held her breath, wondering if he’d get her meaning.

Alistair raised an eyebrow. Clearly he’d missed it. “Let me guess, you’re planning to engage me in a lot of eating contests.”

“Well, I will be eating for two …” Anora let the words trail off. Her heart was pounding with excitement—how many years had she dreamed of making this announcement?

“Wait, are you--?” Alistair’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

Anora nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Really.”

“How—How do you feel? Are you well? Can I … touch him? Or her?” His hand hovered just above her stomach.

“You put him there,” she giggled fondly. “And yes, I feel fine. A little nauseous in the mornings, but other than that …”

“This is the most amazing thing I could ever have imagined,” Alistair said. He touched her belly reverently, first with a single finger, then his warm hand spread across her stomach. “I can’t feel anything.”

“I think that takes a while, but I don’t know. It would be good to have a healer around, Alistair.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’ll get on that,” he said, his hand still caressing her belly. Anora felt the heat spreading from her stomach through her limbs, and a small sigh of pleasure escaped her. Alistair’s eyes darkened, and he pulled her close, his mouth finding hers in a long, tender kiss. 

Their happy interlude was interrupted by an imperative knock on the door. Alistair’s arms tightened around Anora. “Ignore them,” he whispered, “maybe they’ll go away.” He kissed his way down her neck to her collarbone.

Another knock, louder this time. “Your Majesty!” called the chamberlain anxiously. “It’s a missive from Amaranthine. Sire, the messenger was most insistent!”

Alistair moaned in frustration, leaning his head against Anora’s shoulder. “We’ll pick up where we left off tonight, shall we?”

Anora nodded, getting unsteadily to her feet. Alistair pressed his hand to her belly again as he got up. He kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve just made me the happiest man in Ferelden. In Thedas!” he said, and Anora smiled at him.

Throwing the door open, Alistair said, “Let’s see it, Chalmers.” The chamberlain handed over a sealed letter. As Alistair broke the seal, he recognized Judith’s handwriting. Why was she writing to him instead of to Daniel? “Where’s the messenger?” he asked.

“He left already. Said there was no time to waste, and he had to get back right away.”

_Alistair –_  
A darkspawn army—an intelligent, thinking darkspawn army—is approaching the Vigil, and we have reason to believe Amaranthine will be attacked, as well. Kal’Hirol has been cleared of darkspawn, including FOUR broodmothers, and the darkspawn are angry. With me, and with each other. The people have revolted in need of bread, Bann Esmerelle has been killed trying to assassinate me, and the darkspawn are coming. Whatever happens, I need all the Wardens I can get. All the fighters. Collect everyone and bring them as fast as you can. We need troops desperately.  
Judith 

“Maker’s blood,” he said quietly. He turned to look at Anora. “Love, I have to go. Amaranthine and the Vigil are in danger.” He crossed the room swiftly, taking Anora’s face in his hands and kissing her deeply. “You take care of yourself—of both of you—and I will be back as soon as I can.” He hesitated a moment. “I … will miss you,” he said.

Anora was left standing in the middle of the room, her hands protectively over her stomach. Had he nearly said he loved her? Did he love her? It wasn’t a word either of them had used yet. “Dear Maker,” she whispered, “please bring him back safely.”   
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ------ ----- ----- -----  
Alistair sent messengers around town, asking all the nobles to send their personal guards to the gates, ready to ride, by mid-afternoon. But he went himself to the estate of the Arl of Denerim. Daniel was sitting down to his noon meal, surrounded by the families of refugees he had opened his home to, when Alistair burst into his dining room.

Kylon knew immediately something was wrong from looking at Alistair’s face. He pushed his chair back, unable to ask the question. 

“Message from Amaranthine,” Alistair said, trying to catch his breath. “Darkspawn attack imminent. The Vigil and the city.”

“Let’s go,” Kylon said. He pushed past his friend, racing for his room to get his gear. Fear was coursing through his veins, and the only way to avoid giving way to it was to move quickly, to know he was going to her aid as fast as he could. “Let me see that letter,” he said, holding out his hand to Alistair, who was hurrying behind him. “I need to see what she said.”

Alistair handed the letter over, and Kylon read it once through quickly, then again more slowly. “What was I thinking leaving her there all alone?” he said.

A strong hand caught him by the shoulder, and he turned to look into Alistair’s stern face. “Stop acting as though she’s helpless,” Alistair said. “She’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, she has a good team assembled, and she has the sense to call for backup when she needs it. If you want to wrap her up in cotton wool and keep her out of danger … you married the wrong woman.”

Kylon opened his mouth to snap at the other man, but, of course, Alistair was right. Judith was far from helpless, and he needed to appreciate that. He nodded, and Alistair let him go. “Now let’s hurry, for the Maker’s sake,” Alistair said. “She wouldn’t have asked for us if she didn’t need us. But let’s not panic.”

By shortly after noon, Alistair and Kylon, with their respective guards, were assembled at the gates, fully armored and outfitted. “Tell me again exactly what she said,” Kylon said. For at least the fourth time, Alistair held out the letter for Kylon to reread. 

“Why don’t you just keep it this time?” he said.

“Sorry. It’s just … I want to be there now.”

“I know,” Alistair said. “I feel the same way.”

Fergus and Teagan came up at a run, both slightly out of breath.

“Why don’t you all go with the troops you have here? I’ll collect men from here and be right behind you. That way there are two waves of reinforcements,” Fergus said. He nodded at Kylon, clearly understanding the other man’s urgency. 

“I’ll stay here and hold the fort,” Teagan said. “I’ll see if I can find any more healers in town and send them your way.”

“Between Judith and Anders, Amaranthine should be covered,” Kylon said, but he didn’t voice the thought in all their minds—what would happen if neither of the mages survived? “Thanks, Fergus. Don’t wait too long,” he said.

“Don’t worry. You just get there,” Fergus said. He and Teagan turned away, and Alistair and Kylon were ready to lead their men out when the ring of another set of horseshoes sounded on the cobblestones. 

“You might need another blade,” Loghain said in the silence that greeted him.

Alistair scowled. “I doubt we’ll need yours,” he said rudely.

“Boy, I was wielding a blade back when your father could still keep it in his pants,” Loghain said. “The Arl here understands tactics, but he’ll be emotional. A cool head is what’s needed here.”

“You think I’d trust you to protect the Grey Wardens after what you did to the order at Ostagar?!”

“You trusted me well enough when Denerim was under siege,” Loghain said evenly. “I may not be much of a politician, and my lands may be too tainted to farm … but I can fight.” He looked at Kylon. “You and your wife have done good service to this country. I would consider it an honor to shed blood at your side in her defense.”

“Come on, then,” Kylon said. Loghain made good points and he was impatient to get under way. “We can use every blade available.”

As they rode, Alistair brought his horse alongside Kylon’s. “Thanks a lot,” he said.

“For what? Oh. Well, he asked to come along. And we need him.”

“You think he’s still any good?”

“The siege of Denerim was only a couple of months ago, and he wielded a decent blade then. Besides, you don’t care if he’s any good,” Kylon snapped. “You just don’t want to forgive him.”

“Could you?!”

“Yes. If he was my wife’s father, I could. Look, Alistair,” Kylon shouted over the drum of the hoofbeats, the horses trotting along at a fair clip, “you have to get past this! You think your wife enjoys this constant sniping you and Loghain do? Give the woman a break, for the Maker’s sake!” He paused, feeling badly that he had undermined Alistair’s authority in front of the assembled troops. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that.”

Alistair frowned. “No, you’re right, we can use him. Still …” He glanced back at Loghain, frowning darkly. Alistair allowed his horse to drop back. Kylon glanced over his shoulder, seeing an obstinate expression settle on his friend’s face. He sympathized with Alistair’s position … but forgiving Loghain his crimes publicly and punishing him—and Anora—for them privately seemed like a particularly childish way to behave.

He couldn’t dwell on Alistair’s problems for long. The closer they drew to Amaranthine, the harder Kylon’s heart pounded. As they made their way through the Wending Wood, Alistair drew up next to him again.

“I can feel them,” Alistair said. “From this far away, I can feel the darkspawn. That’s … a lot of darkspawn.” His face was stark and worried.

“Can you feel Judith?”

“No, not from this far. But … they’ll need us. I hope Fergus isn’t too far behind.”

Kylon hoped so, too.


	18. Battle

The sounds of the battle rang in their ears before they’d even left the Wending Wood. Alistair rode next to Kylon, his face drawn with concern. “I had no idea there were this many darkspawn left,” he called over the sounds of the horses’ hooves.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Kylon shouted. He spurred his horse, leaning forward as it moved. He wasn’t an expert on a horse, but he’d ridden enough to be comfortable. He was quickly outstripped by both Alistair, who had grown up in the stables, and Loghain, who had grown up on a farm. The two of them took the lead, riding next to each other, not looking at one another. When they came in sight of the darkspawn, they leaped off the horses, tying them securely to a tree growing along the side of the road. Kylon and the other troops did likewise.

“Form up!” Alistair called, and the force formed a wedge with Kylon and Loghain at its head. “We can’t get into the keep without compromising its defences, so we’ll have to deal with the horde on the ground. Make every arrow, every strike count—and do not allow them to take prisoners!”

“Aye!” called all the men as one. Alistair raised his sword in the air.

“For Ferelden!” he called, and they all moved forward. The darkspawn in the rear turned to face them. Kylon raised his blades and with a cry Oghren would have been proud of threw himself into the fray, slicing off a genlock’s head with a single slash of sword and dagger. He thrust the sword into the gut of a hurlock, pushing the creature off his blade with his boot as he turned to the next enemy. There was no shortage, and quickly the whole force was embroiled in battle.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Judith struck a frozen emissary with the pommel of Spellweaver, watching the emissary shatter with grim satisfaction. She looked around, breathing a sigh of relief—it seemed they had cleared out the city. Slowly, her troop moved toward the Chantry—Oghren, swigging something foul-smelling in celebration; Velanna, looking around at the city with her usual sneer; and Sigrun, the dwarf they had found in the ruins of Kal’Hirol, the last remaining member of her division of the Legion of the Dead. 

They reached the Chantry, where they were met by Constable Aiden—clean, well-rested Constable Aiden, who had recommending burning down the city, who had claimed there were no survivors. He came up to Judith, smiling and holding out his hand. “Commander, I wouldn’t have believed it—“ he began, but Judith cut him off.

“I wouldn’t, either, Aiden. I wouldn’t have believed that someone who was commissioned with the safety and well-being of this city would run screaming like a toddler, leaving women and children locked in the Chantry behind him, when faced with a few darkspawn.”

The smile faded from his face. “A few—We were overrun!” he protested.

“Hardly. I took them all out with a team of four. How many guards do you have? I counted at least 15. They were doing their best, but if they’d had a leader, you could have held this city!” Judith’s hands were trembling as she thought of all the lives lost to this man’s cowardice and bad management. “You left your city to die, Constable. That’s treason, in my book.” She looked over his shoulder at a dark-haired woman, heavily pregnant, who had emerged from the Chantry. “Delilah, is that right? Nathaniel’s sister?” The woman nodded. “He’ll be very relieved that you’ve survived. I’d like to ask you to select a new Constable, and to have this man,” she gestured contemptuously at Aiden, “taken into custody, pending a trial for treason.”

“With pleasure,” Delilah Howe snapped, and Judith could clearly see the resemblance to her brother in the other woman’s proud carriage. 

“Do you need anything?” Judith asked, but before Delilah could answer, a man came running up the steps, screaming. “They’re in the inn! They’re in the inn!” A stream of survivors followed him. Judith nodded at her team. Over her shoulder, she called to Delilah, “Bar the doors! Stay in the Chantry until it’s safe!” She didn’t wait for Delilah’s answer, but led the way through the terrified survivors down the steps and toward the inn. She could feel the presence of darkspawn stronger and stronger as she came closer, and realized with a sinking sensation in her heart that they must be coming from the smuggler’s tunnel she had forgotten to have sealed. 

Drawing Spellweaver, Judith charged through the inn door.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Kylon ducked a wild swing from a dying hurlock and shoved his dagger into its throat. He dodged the spray of tainted blood that spurted forth when he removed the dagger, turning swiftly to bury his sword in the side of a genlock. It was fortunate, he thought, that the darkspawn’s armor tended to be falling apart. It made them much easier targets. He parried the sword thrust of another genlock. Suddenly, over the din of battle, he heard Fergus Cousland’s horn. He didn’t dare turn to look, but the relief of knowing reinforcements were at hand sent renewed strength through him.

On another part of the field, Alistair jumped aside as an ogre tried to ram him. It stumbled, thrown off balance, but caught itself and turned around for another strike. Alistair set his shield, preparing to meet its next charge, when a figure in gleaming silverite armor appeared. With a great leap, the figure was on the ogre’s back, clinging with one hand as he buried his blade in the ogre’s neck with the other. 

A loud groan issued from the ogre, and it fell forward, sending the silverite-clad figure flying. Loghain landed hard, sprawled on the ground.

Grudgingly, Alistair went over, holding a hand out to help his father-in-law up. “I was about to do that,” he said.

“Yes, well, now you’ll have to find some other way to get out of being married to my daughter,” Loghain said.

Whatever Alistair might have said in response was cut off when they heard Fergus’s horn. 

“About time,” Loghain grumbled. He hauled his sword out of the ogre’s neck and returned to the battle—limping slightly, Alistair noticed. He had to admit that Loghain certainly didn’t spare himself in battle. Except at Ostagar, whispered a bitter voice in the back of his head. 

With an angry yell, Alistair hurled himself back into the battle, working out his frustrations on the darkspawn’s tainted bodies.   
\----- ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
A ways away from the city, Judith fought her way through the misshapen bodies of the Children, some attempt of the Architect’s to create a human-darkspawn hybrid that had gone terribly awry. It had taken precious time to arrive here at the Architect’s lair, and she could feel him waiting beneath, his presence a disturbing hum in her blood.

Judith surveyed the rubble before her with distrustful eyes. The crumbling stone stairs worried her. The last thing she wanted was to lose the Arling because she fell down a flight of stairs that were too old to hold her weight.

As she stood there, Oghren came forward. “Let me,” he grunted. “If they’ll hold me, they’re sure to hold you. If they won’t … well, it’s been nice knowin’ ya.”

“Thanks, Oghren,” Judith said. She watched the bright red head as Oghren moved slowly down the steps. And then more of those disgusting creatures were upon him, as Oghren swung his humongous hammer, smashing into the soft sluglike bodies. Judith signaled to Sigrun and the two of them moved down the steps to support Oghren. Velanna took her stand at the back, her staff shooting green poison.

The flights of stairs seemed endless, as did the swarms of those unnatural darkspawn creatures. Judith tried to keep from downing too many of her lyrium potions, but she and Velanna were running out of power. She worried that they wouldn’t have enough left when they finally ran into the Architect. Or his counterpart, the Mother.

Finally they reached the bottom of the steps. As they stood, trying to catch their breath, Judith heard a throat being cleared high above her, and she looked up. The Architect stood there on a ledge, with Velanna’s sister Seranni and Utha, the tainted dwarf who had once been a Warden, at his side.

The Architect nodded to Seranni, who ran lightly down the stairs, stopping in front of Velanna. “Sister,” Velanna said, her eyes filling with tears at the sight of Seranni’s tainted face. “What has happened to you?”

“I have joined the Architect,” Seranni said. “He is trying to help his people, Velanna. Don’t you see that? They are downtrodden and misunderstood, like the Dalish, and they just want a better life for themselves.”

“But at what cost?” Judith said. “Who will pay for the darkspawn’s ‘better life’?”

Seranni cast Judith an annoyed glance before looking back at her sister. “All the darkspawn want is to have the same opportunities the Grey Wardens do. The Grey Wardens consume darkspawn blood to become immune to the taint … the darkspawn want Grey Warden blood to become immune to the song of the Archdemons. Think of it, Velanna!” Seranni said. “If the darkspawn aren’t drawn to uncover the Old Gods beneath the ground, there will be no more Blights!”

“No more Blights, huh?” Sigrun cut in. “Great. So the human world is safe, and the brunt of the fighting falls on the dwarves. Typical.”

“You wouldn’t have to fight! The darkspawn want to live in peace.”

“I’ve never heard that one before,” Oghren said.

“And you never will again,” Judith said. “Because it’s not possible.” She looked up at the Architect. “Hasn’t that been proven by recent events in Amaranthine? What happened to the Wardens you took? They became monsters and died. What are your peaceful darkspawn up to now? They’ve attacked Amaranthine. And the keep. Is that what peace means to you?”

“The Mother was … a tragic mistake,” the Architect acknowledged sadly. “She was twisted, warped somehow.”

“And you think there won’t be more of those?” Judith shook her head. “No. We will not even discuss this.”

“Pity,” said the Architect.

And the battle was joined.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
At last, the darkspawn had been defeated. As Alistair removed his sword from the gut of the last genlock, the gates of the Vigil swung open, and the remaining defenders poured out. Riordan was at their head, dashing across the field toward the King.

“Alistair, thank you for coming.” He nodded at Kylon in gratitude, as well. “You have saved many lives today.”

“Is Judith there?” Kylon could barely breathe—he’d been butted in the stomach by a genlock, and felt as though he’d cracked some ribs—but he had to know.

Riordan shook his head. “She went to Amaranthine, and we haven’t heard anything since. We’ve been under siege almost since she left, so if she sent a messenger …” He shrugged eloquently.

“We have to … find her,” Kylon panted. The cool tingling of a healing spell swept through him, and since healing meant Judith to him, his face brightened, only to fall again when he realized the spell had come from Anders.

“You can’t go anywhere until those ribs have some time to knit,” Anders said.

The protest that sprang immediately to Kylon’s lips was stilled when he saw Fergus approaching. Loghain’s arm was slung over Fergus’s shoulder, and the older man leaned unwillingly on the younger. 

Alistair swallowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Cheer up, boy,” Loghain rasped. “It looks to be fatal. Good news for you.” He chuckled hoarsely.

Anders immediately went to work on the wound in Loghain’s leg, which closed up before their eyes.

“The leg isn’t the problem,” Fergus said, in response to Anders’s unspoken question. “He was bitten by a shriek.” Loghain obediently held out his arm, looking contemptuously amused by all the fuss. “You can see, the taint is already spreading.”

“There is only one thing to do, then,” Riordan said. “Come with me, we will do the Joining at once.”

“What?” Alistair asked faintly, looking stricken.

“It may not save him,” Riordan said, “but it is the only thing that might.”

“That’s not what … I …” Alistair whispered as Riordan and Fergus led Loghain off toward the keep.

“You wouldn’t really want him to die, would you?” Kylon asked, looking at his friend. “Could you look your wife in the face if you let that happen?”

“No, but … He killed the Grey Wardens!” Alistair said. His face was white and tense.

“Then it seems right that his life should be spent as one. What better punishment could you possibly devise?” Kylon asked. He followed the others, leaving Alistair standing in the midst of the battlefield, wrestling with demons stronger than the darkspawn had been.


	19. Vanquished

Judith knelt on the ground, trying to catch her breath. Though it had taken a lot out of all of them, the Architect and his supporters were dead. They had left Velanna to deal with Seranni. The mage had tried everything she could to avoid striking her sibling, but Seranni had been committed to the Architect’s cause. Velanna had been forced to kill her sister. Now the mage sat on the floor, cradling the lifeless body in her arms as she crooned a Dalish lullaby.

“What’re we gonna do about her?” Oghren asked. He held out a hand to help Judith up. “Ya think she’s gonna be in any shape to fight?”

“If she can put the grief aside and get mad, she will be,” Judith said. “You think you’re up to it?” She raised her eyebrows at Oghren, who sighed.

“What would ya do without me?” Oghren walked over to the elf, who glared at him, her eyes dry and pain-filled.

“What do you want?”

“You ready to get movin’?”

“I have no further purpose,” Velanna said, turning back to her sister. “Leave me be.”

“That’s right. Your sister went nuts with the taint, so now there’s nothin’ else to fight for.”

“What would you know about losing someone?” She didn’t even bother to look up at him, stroking the blond hair back from Seranni’s face.

“Ya just gonna sit there, waitin’ for the darkspawn? So you can die o’ the taint, too? Bet yer sister’ll be overjoyed to see you didn’t learn nothin’ from her death.”

“That isn’t at all what I’m doing!” 

“Sure looks like it to me. Turnin’ yer back on the world ‘cause you lost someone—yep, she’ll be proud of ya, all right.”

“Dwarf, have you no respect?” Velanna spoke in a heated whisper. “Does this appear to be the time for your witticisms?”

“It ain’t the time for you to feel sorry for yourself, either,” Oghren said. “The world don’t stop just ‘cause you want it to. That kind o’ thing only happens in stories for little nuglets.”

Velanna placed Seranni on the ground with loving care, then stood up, snarling at Oghren. “If you do not leave me alone, I’ll—“

“That’s the spirit!” Oghren said, his gaze dropping to Velanna’s large bosom. “Nice to see you gettin’ excited, with your heavin’ … uh … Why don’t we get goin’?” He backed away as Velanna brandished her staff.

“If there are darkspawn to fight, let us do so,” Velanna snapped.

Judith nodded to Sigrun, who led the way down the tunnels toward where the Mother waited.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Riordan and Anders murmured over vials of blood for several minutes before turning to Kylon and Fergus. 

“I am sorry, my friends, but this is Grey Warden business. We will have to ask you to leave.”

Kylon considered arguing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to watch the Joining anyway. Judith spoke of it as a horrific experience—he didn’t mind missing it. Outside the room where the Joining was about to take place, Alistair sat with his head in his hands.

Fergus and Kylon sat down on either side of him. “You all right?” Kylon asked.

“I’m a heel,” groaned Alistair. “And I still hate the idea of bestowing this honor on him.” He shook his head. “Don’t look at me.”

Fergus patted Alistair on the back. “Truth be told,” he said, “I know Nathaniel Howe’s around here somewhere, and I dread meeting him. Even though he had nothing to do with what his father did to my family.”

“You wouldn’t rather he died, though, would you?” Alistair said.

“No, I suppose not. But if Rendon Howe were in front of me, I’d cheerfully run him through. Several times. For starters,” Fergus said darkly.

Alistair sighed. “I’ve tried to forgive Loghain—or barring that, to forget what he did. But I can’t. I lie in Cailan’s bed, with Cailan’s wife, and I know that I’m only there because Loghain let my half-brother die on the battlefield. It doesn’t make the forgiveness any easier.”

“No one can do it for you, Alistair,” Kylon said. “You have to find a way to get there on your own.”

As he spoke, the door opened, and Riordan stepped out. He nodded at the men on the bench. “He will live. We have a new recruit.”

“Great,” Alistair said weakly. “I wonder what Anora will say to her father being a Grey Warden?”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------  
Judith struggled to her feet. The constant shaking of the earth made it hard to concentrate on her spells, and the swarming of the disgusting creatures known as the Children kept distracting her from her main target—the massive figure of the Mother, broodmother to end all broodmothers. Judith and Velanna had worn themselves out, consuming lyrium potion on top of lyrium potion, trying to keep the others going. But Sigrun had fallen at last. Oghren had struggled on valiantly, swinging the massive hammer as hard as he could, but he’d gone down, too. Judith could see him, sprawled on the stone floor, blood trickling from beneath him. She could only hope he would last long enough for her to win this battle and try to heal him.

Far back, Velanna’s staff was in motion still, but her energy was flagging, surrounded as she was by the Children. 

Judith drew Spellweaver. Her fingers were shaking so badly from exhaustion and too much lyrium that she could tell she wasn’t gripping the sword properly, but she held it. She closed with the Mother and thrust the sword deep into the huge white belly.

At a scream from the back of the room, Judith turned to see Velanna go down under the Children. She tried to heal the elf, but a wriggling tentacle caught Judith by the waist and threw her into a rock. She hit hard and heard something crack within herself. With difficulty, she lifted her hands, tracing the rune symbols in the air that would send electricity crackling through the Mother. Blackness began to close in around Judith. The Mother was shrieking and screaming, but it wouldn’t be enough. Judith tried to get up, but the blackness was too dense. She couldn’t move.

Dimly, Judith saw a small red-haired figure dart through the room. She saw the flash of two blades as the figure leapt onto the white flabby mass of the Mother’s flesh. But the blackness had its way, and Judith saw nothing more.

When next she knew something, her mouth had been opened and liquid was pouring down her throat. “Andraste’s tits, mage, wake up! Don’t you dare die on me before I can kick your ass!” The voice was strained nearly to breaking, despite the harsh words.

Judith opened her eyes to the surprising sight of Shianni weeping. “Why won’t you wake up?!” Shianni shouted, shaking Judith by the shoulders, before she saw that Judith was looking at her. “Thank the Maker,” Shianni breathed. “You have to get—I mean, can you stand?”

“The healing potion helped,” Judith said, her voice hoarse and cracked. She shifted, trying to get the leverage to stand. Shianni’s hands at her shoulders offered support, and between the two of them they managed to get Judith on her feet, albeit leaning against the stone.

“Do you need lyrium?” Shianni asked, still tearful. “He needs healing, more than I can get down his throat. Please!”

Judith put a hand to her head, trying to focus. Staggering slightly, leaning on Shianni, she moved toward Oghren, where he lay amidst rubbery tentacle remnants and pieces of the slug-like Children. Blood still seeped from him, forming a puddle on the ground. “It’s good,” she said, then had to clear her throat while Shianni glared at her. “It’s good that he still bleeds. Means he’s not dead.” She dug down into her power, what little remained of it, and was gratified to see the familiar blue light form around Oghren’s limp body.

The dwarf stirred, and Shianni dropped Judith’s arm to fall to her knees beside him. “Grenny,” Shianni said anxiously. “Grenny, can you hear me, baby?”

‘Grenny’? Judith wished she had the strength to be ill. As Oghren’s eyes opened, she decided she didn’t need to see this lovers’ reunion, and she moved shakily toward Velanna’s still form.

The mage lay on her back, and Judith could discern only the faintest rise and fall of the other woman’s chest. She knelt next to Velanna, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder, letting healing flow gently through her and into the elf. There wasn’t much, but it was enough, as Velanna stirred slightly.

The elf’s eyes opened, blinking as awareness came to her. And then hot tears welled up in her eyes, running down her temples and into her hair. “No,” she moaned. “Why did you save me? What—There—“ Her words trailed off, and she rolled to her side, away from Judith, her shoulders shaking as she wept.

Judith pushed herself off the ground, leaving Velanna alone with her grief. She searched through the mess left in the cavern, looking for the last member of the party. At last she found Sigrun, lying in a crumpled heap near the wall. Any chance for healing had passed long ago. The dwarf lay still and cold, gone to join the rest of the Legion in the Stone, or wherever it was dwarves went. Judith hoped she had found a hero’s welcome—Sigrun may have run from the battle, but she had come back to win the war, to avenge the Legion, and Judith thought that should count for something.

Gently, Judith straightened out Sigrun’s legs and folded the dwarf’s arms across her chest. “Rest in peace, Sigrun,” she whispered.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. “Let’s get outta this hole in the ground, Commander,” Oghren grunted. His face was pale and he looked a bit unsteady, but he was on his feet.

Judith nodded wearily. “Yes,” she said, “let’s.”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
At the Vigil, Kylon was directing a pair of stretcher bearers to carry a wounded man into the dining hall, where Anders had set up an infirmary. The rooms he usually used were simply not large enough to handle all the day’s wounded. The men who had come with the King and with Fergus were the hardest hit, since they’d been on the ground with the darkspawn, and several had given their lives in the attempt. Pyres were being built for those men in the Vigil’s courtyard.

Very few men had been bitten or otherwise infected with taint, for which they were all grateful. In addition to Loghain, three others had been given an emergency Joining. Of those, only one had pulled through, a grizzled veteran named Carl who had been part of Fergus’s retinue. He’d paled at being told he had to become a Grey Warden in order to survive the taint, but had gone through his Joining willingly enough. He and Loghain were resting now, both twitching with post-Joining nightmares.

Kylon turned to look around at the battlefield. Voldrik Glavonak, the dwarf in charge of shoring up the Vigil’s defenses, was barking orders at a group of men detailed to clean up the rubble where the walls had been breached during the attack. Alistair was assisting Finbar and Nathaniel Howe in removing the darkspawn bodies; Riordan was in charge of caring for the dead; and Fergus had offered himself as Anders’s assistant—the Teyrn had proved a surprisingly gentle nurse. Kylon was in charge of clearing the wounded off the field, but at this point, it appeared they were all taken care of.

A messenger sent to Amaranthine had returned with the information that the Commander and her party had been there, had saved a number of people—including Nathaniel Howe’s sister—and had left again, but where they were headed, no one seemed to know. Kylon was trying not to think, trying to keep himself busy enough that he didn’t have time to worry, but always in the back of his mind was his fear that she wouldn’t return.

He turned, looking down the road for the fiftieth time that hour, straining in a fruitless attempt to see something coming. Just as he was about to look away, he saw the sun glinting off a piece of metal. A moving piece of metal. Armor! With halting steps, due to the still-healing ribs, Kylon hurried forward, calling out to Alistair over his shoulder. 

Judith leaned heavily on Shianni, in pain from wounds she couldn’t see and didn’t have the strength left to heal. Velanna limped behind her. Only Oghren seemed to have recovered from the ordeal enough to move normally. 

Just as she thought she couldn’t go another step, Judith heard a voice calling her name. She looked up to see Daniel, with Alistair close behind him. A smile spread across her face, and then the world spun around her and she fell forward into Daniel’s arms.


	20. Healing

Judith was only vaguely aware of getting the rest of the way to the Vigil. She kept trying to ask questions about the keep, and her men, and who had survived the darkspawn attack, but if anyone answered her, she didn’t hear it. 

Alistair carried her, since Kylon’s ribs were still too painful to lift her. Kylon hovered at Alistair’s shoulder as closely as he could, nearly causing the other man to stumble once or twice. He glanced back over his shoulder at the others several times. Velanna appeared shocked, her eyes faraway and glazed over. Shianni clung to Oghren, whose meaty arm was wrapped tightly around the elf’s waist. Kylon couldn’t wait to hear where they had found Shianni.

As they entered the Vigil, Anders came to meet them. His big hands gently probed Judith’s abdomen. She kept herself from crying out with an obvious effort.

“I don’t like this at all,” Anders said quietly. He looked at Alistair. “Take her upstairs to her room. I’ll be right there.” He turned toward Velanna and Oghren.

Alistair moved toward the stairs. Judith feebly tried to twist in his arms. “Wait—is everyone all right? What about the defenses? Did they hold?”

Kylon took her hand. “Stop worrying. You have half the leadership of Ferelden here, and we’re trying our best not to let the place fall apart.” The weak attempt at humor fell flat, Judith looking at him anxiously. “Everything’s fine. We stopped the darkspawn, the Vigil held. Now the important thing is getting you healed, which means you have to stop trying to run things.”

“Going up the stairs now,” Alistair said. “Squirming might result in me dropping you on your head.” 

Judith grumbled under her breath, but didn’t have the strength for much more. Alistair carried her to her room, where he laid her gently on the bed.

Anders came in shortly. He shooed the other men out of the room, claiming they weren’t going to be any help pacing and trying to watch over his shoulder.

Eventually Anders came out, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. She’s cracked a rib, and it appears to have punctured a kidney. I’m surprised she made it this far—she certainly couldn’t have healed it herself,” he said. “I’ve resolved the puncture, and I think she’s going to be fine, but she has to rest. A lot.” He looked at Kylon. “You can go in, but no funny business. Neither of you is in any condition.”

Kylon nodded, too worried to rise to the teasing. He found a chair, pulling it up next to the bed, and took her hand.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re here.”

“Of course. We all came as soon as Alistair got your message. Me, Alistair, Fergus, and Loghain.”

“Who’s running the country?”

“Teagan and Anora. I doubt the country will even notice the rest of us have left.”

“Is—Did everyone …?” Her voice trailed off.

Quickly, Kylon said, “Yes. You saw Alistair and Anders. Fergus is fine, as are Riordan and Finbar and Nathaniel. Loghain was bitten by a shriek.” He grinned suddenly. “Congratulations on your new recruit.”

Startled, Judith tried to sit up. She winced and sank back into the pillows. “Loghain? A Grey Warden? How did Alistair take that?”

“Honestly? Better than I’d expected. At least he knew he was being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Judith swallowed. “You weren’t at Ostagar. Plus there’s what he did to the elves, and …” Her voice trailed off and she met Kylon’s eyes, sighing. “No, it’s not going to be a problem for me … but I can’t be too critical of Alistair’s reaction, either. I’ll have to think of something to do with Loghain. Recruiting trip, maybe, or send him to Weisshaupt. I don’t think he should stay here. What about the others, the Vigil soldiers and men?”

“A few of the defenders were injured, but most of the casualties were amongst those on the ground, the men who came from Denerim with us.”

“Daniel?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Thank you.” Her hand squeezed his. 

“Was it—how bad was it?”

“The Architect wasn’t so bad. The Mother … if Shianni hadn’t been there …” Judith shivered. Daniel left the chair, lying down next to her. Judith pressed against him, the warmth of his body comforting her. 

“How did Shianni find you?” Daniel asked.

“I don’t know,” Judith said drowsily. “She was just … there.” She yawned. Daniel didn’t ask any more questions. He just held her as she drifted off to sleep. 

Daniel lay quietly, watching Judith sleep, feeling the soft weight of her against him. How long had he waited for a moment like this—so peaceful, just the two of them, no catastrophes ready to break down the door? The first weeks of their marriage had been filled with separation. Stressful for her, fear-filled for him. He promised himself that as soon as she was well, they would take some time, maybe take that wedding trip to Highever, and actually be together.  
\----- ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ----- ----- ----- -----  
In another bed, two reunited lovers lay together in the afterglow of their love. 

“Ya never did tell me where you were all that time,” Oghren said. He shifted his arm under Shianni’s neck so she could lie more comfortably.

“Amaranthine, mostly. I didn’t dare go home to the Alienage—Soris is so straight-laced, he’d have brought me back himself,” she said.

“Nobody likes a goody two-shoes,” Oghren observed.

“No. So I hid out in Amaranthine. It was surprisingly easy—sodding Aiden didn’t even know I was there, even though I did some work for the Chanters’ board and even tracked down a couple of those smugglers for him.” She twisted to look at him. “I saw you a few times.”

“Yeah? Get your knickers hot?”

“You know it, baby,” Shianni said. She bent to kiss him, welcoming the scratch of his heavy beard. 

He broke away, breathing heavily. “Still want to know how you got to us at just the right time,” he said. Shianni’s mouth on his neck was distracting, but not quite distracting enough. One ham-like hand closed on her shoulder, pushing her up. He ogled the lithe body as Shianni sat back on her heels. 

“I was having a time of it, after the darkspawn attacked the city. The darkspawn could all sense me, and they were trying to trap me. I was able to avoid them until you came in and killed them all, but then I heard you were going after the Architect. I … couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you,” Shianni whispered.

Oghren sat up, his brow furrowed. “Then why’d ya leave me in the first place?”

“I was … I felt betrayed. The Commander never told me I wouldn’t be able to have children,” she said hoarsely. “She should have prepared me.”

“But … didn’t ya say ya never wanted any nuglings?”

“I did say that. But I wanted it to be my choice!” Shianni closed her eyes as her voice grew strident. “You probably don’t understand that.”

Oghren was quiet for a minute, then he said, “No, I think I get it. Felt the same way when Branka ran off to the Deep Roads. I didn’t wanta go, y’understand, but I wanted her to at least want me along.”

Shianni nodded. “I just … needed some time to get it straight. You think the Commander will be mad?”

“Naw,” Oghren said, stroking her arm reassuringly. “She was worried sick about ya. So was the Arl—went to see Soris an’ everything.”

“He did?” Tears shone in Shianni’s eyes, and she wiped them away impatiently. “That was … nice of him.”

“Was, wasn’t it?” Oghren pulled her close. He whispered in her ear, “It was nice o’ you to come save me. Did I thank ya for that yet?”

“Not enough,” Shianni said as Oghren’s mouth began to move. “Not nearly enough.”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ----- -----  
Loghain stirred, groaning. His head was pounding, and he felt simultaneously nauseous and ravenous. A familiar voice said, “Here. Drink this,” and a strong arm helped him sit up and drink a tall glass of water. There must have been some kind of restorative there, as well, because the headache began to recede almost immediately.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly to his son-in-law. Alistair nodded, removing his arm to allow Loghain to sit back against the pillows. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to be here.”

“The Commander spank you?”

Alistair’s jaw worked in aggravation. “The Commander’s wounded,” he said finally. “Pretty badly.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Will she recover?” Loghain looked at Alistair with concern.

“Anders says so, but it was a near thing, apparently.” There was a silence. Then Alistair cleared his throat. “It occurs to me that we’ve never talked.”

“I have so far seen no way to get you to stop talking,” Loghain said. “Your father had the same problem.”

“I meant, we’ve never talked to each other. Cleared the air, I suppose.”

“And you think we should have this heart-to-heart bonding moment right now?” Loghain frowned. “To be frank, I’m surprised you’re not sulking somewhere, mourning the fact that your precious Grey Wardens have been sullied with my blood.”

“I was.”

“Well, that’s honest, anyway.”

“You left them to die!”

Loghain looked at the boy sitting next to him and sighed. “Some day the black will fade, the white will be soiled, and you, too, will have to see the world in shades of grey,” he said wearily. “Or you’ll die young, like the other Theirin men, before you have to face the fact that every decision isn’t as clear cut as you’d like it to be.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“Why should I?” Loghain shifted in the bed, frowning. “I used to command the armies of Ferelden, and now I’m being commanded by a chit of a mage no older than my daughter, looking forward to the rest of my life spent cooling my heels with you Orlesians.”

“Why do you do that?” Alistair asked in irritation. “Judith’s a Fereldan. I’m a Fereldan. Duncan was raised Fereldan, and born Rivaini. Why must you always assume that when we went through the Joining we also changed citizenship?”

“Because the Grey Wardens are tools of the Empress. Just another weapon she used to attempt to retake our country.” Loghain shook his head. “Why can’t you see that, boy?”

“And you talk about me not being able to see in shades of grey! You’re as bad, if not worse, seeing the Grey Wardens always through the same glass—the warped, twisted glass of your hatred of Orlais. We’re not Orlesians, and we don’t want to take over the country! We just want to save it from the darkspawn.” Alistair stood up abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor. “I was a fool to think I could talk to you,” he said.

As the door slammed behind the boy, Loghain sighed, wishing—not for the first time—that the whelp had cut his head off in the Landsmeet and gotten it over with. He didn’t know if he knew how to live in this new Ferelden.


	21. Uncertainty

Breakfast the next day was a subdued meal, hastily put together out of whatever they could find in the kitchen. Even young Finbar’s ready smile was missing. The assembled company stood, however, to greet their Commander when Judith came down to join them. Blushing, she waved at them all to sit. 

“I’m fine, really,” she said when Anders began to fuss over her. “All I need is a good meal, and we can see about putting this place back together.” Anders looked skeptical, but went to fill her a plate. Judith took the seat next to Loghain, whose plate was piled with the standard Grey Warden portion. He was staring at it, looking doubtful.

“Welcome to the family,” she said quietly. 

“That’s not the reaction of many of your men,” he said.

“It’s just Alistair.”

“Isn’t he enough?”

“Alistair’s not an active Grey Warden,” Judith said, accepting the plate Anders handed her. “You’ll probably hear less from him here than you would constantly dropping in on them at the palace the way you have been.”

Loghain cast her a sharp look, but Judith was serenely buttering a piece of bread. “What are you going to do with me?”

Judith looked at him speculatively. “I’m not sure. I was thinking of reassigning you somewhere … or sending you on a recruiting trip. I suspect you’re a fair judge of a blade. And of the person wielding it.”

“Are you sure you’d trust me?”

“No,” Judith said bluntly. “Which is why I’m only thinking of it and haven’t decided yet.”

At that point Daniel set his plate down. “No shop talk this morning, please,” he said cheerfully. “A bit of a rest is called for.”

“That’s a lovely thought, darling,” Judith said, “but we have to rebuild the walls, and make sure all the darkspawn are taken care of, and—“

“Okay, okay, I get the point,” Daniel said when it appeared the list was never going to end. “I need to speak with you privately. Later.”

Judith looked at him with concern. “Everything all right?”

“I hope so.” Daniel attacked his breakfast without adding anything further.   
Loghain took his still-full plate and stood up. “Commander.” He bowed stiffly to Judith and stalked from the hall. Judith watched him with worried eyes, hoping they could find a way to get him settled.

Across the room, Velanna pushed her untouched plate away, getting up off her bench. Her shoulders were slumped unhappily, and she didn’t even notice Nathaniel until she ran into him, her nose smashing against his leather breastplate.

“Get out of my way,” she said softly.

“My lady,” Nathaniel said. He waited for the burst of spite that usually answered any attempt on his part to use courtly manners on the elf, but she ducked her head and went around him. Nathaniel followed her into the hall. “Velanna,” he said, catching her arm.

“What?” Some of her accustomed venom was in the word, but not nearly enough. Seeing her so despondent tugged sharply at Nathaniel’s heartstrings. Without thinking about it, he drew her close, putting his arms around her. “What are you doing?” she asked, but she didn’t try to pull away.

“Trying to help,” he said. Velanna stood awkwardly in his embrace, looking up at him as though she thought he’d lost his mind—and then he did. His head dipped and his mouth sought hers.

Velanna gasped softly, her lips opening beneath his, and before she knew it, she was kissing him back, feeling the life force return to her body and her spirit along with the warmth his body was imparting to hers.

A loud clearing of the throat interrupted the moment, and they turned to see Anders in the doorway. The mage grinned at them. “I don’t know whether to say ‘it’s about bloody time’, or ‘get a room’,” he said.

“Mind your tongue,” Velanna snapped. She glared at Anders, and was gone, leaving nothing but her fresh, woodsy scent behind her. Nathaniel was relieved to hear the anger back in her voice, and he looked forward to the next time he caught her in the halls. Or to finding a way to get her into his room later.

“Careful, there,” Anders said. “You could burn yourself on that one.”

“I don’t think so,” Nathaniel said thoughtfully. “There’s something different about her since they came back from defeating the Architect. I think … I think she could use a friend.”

“Did that feel like friendship to you?” Anders asked. “Because it didn’t look like it.” He punched Nathaniel playfully in the arm before heading back to his patients.

As Judith and Kylon were finishing breakfast, Fergus Cousland came over to the table, leading a thin man with close-cropped gray hair. “Judith, this is Carl. He’s been with my family for a long time, but after yesterday’s battle and a close call with some tainted blood, he’s now a Grey Warden.”

Judith stood, extending a hand. “Welcome to the family, Carl. I’m Judith Am—Judith Kylon, Warden Commander.” She shot an apologetic smile at her husband. Daniel’s jaw twitched, and he looked back at his plate. The response surprised Judith, who’d been expecting an answering smile. What was wrong with him today? Dragging her thoughts back to the moment, she smiled at Carl.

“Commander,” Carl said in a hoarse voice. “I’ll do my best to be a good Grey Warden. Not quite sure what that means, but …” 

“We’ll see if we can’t help you ease into the job a bit,” she said. “You must be famished.”

“How did you know?”

“Grey Wardens eat a lot,” Fergus said, clapping Carl on the back. “I’m not privy to most of their secrets, but that one’s hard to miss.” He looked back at Judith. “Alistair and I will be taking those of our men who are ready to travel back to Denerim today. He’s anxious that the queen should hear about her father from him, before she gets wind of any rumors.”

“Very sensible,” Judith said. 

“Fergus,” Daniel broke in. “That trip we discussed?”

“To … Highever?” Fergus’s eyes were both worried and hopeful.

“Yes. It might be sooner, rather than later. You still …?”

Fergus took a deep, shuddering breath. “Yes. Yes, I think so. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Daniel nodded. “I’ll find you when I get back to Denerim.”

Judith was looking around the room, oblivious to the men’s conversation. “Has anyone seen Oghren and Shianni?”

Fergus grinned widely. “I don’t think they’ve come up for air yet.”

“From the er, sounds, maybe we don’t want them to,” Daniel added. “Where did she come from?”

“I don’t know,” Judith said. “She was just … there. Right when she was needed. We—none of us would have made it without her.” She shivered. Daniel stood up and put an arm around her, pulling her close. He resolved again to make her take some time off. He couldn’t bear to have her go back into danger now, not when he’d nearly lost her.

Alistair came into the room. He saw Judith, but looked away, flushing, unable to meet her eyes. Judith felt for him. Alistair might have some growing up to do, but he was still being asked to accept something that would have gone against most people’s grain. “Daniel,” she said quietly, “will you introduce Carl to Riordan and Finbar, ask them to help him settle in a bit? I need to talk to Alistair.” She squeezed his hand when he nodded, and crossed the room to her friend.

“So you’ve heard how I acted,” Alistair said quietly. “I’m not proud of myself, but …” He shrugged helplessly.

“I understand,” Judith whispered. “But think of Anora. How would you ever have faced her?”

“How will you face him every day?”

“I’ll have to see,” she said. “Look on the bright side—he won’t be able to drop in at the palace.” 

Alistair chuckled. “I suppose that’s true.” He looked around him, then leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Especially since we’re going to be having another visitor at the palace … we’re hoping this one is coming to stay.”

Judith’s eyes widened and she met Alistair’s wide grin with one of her own. “That’s wonderful news, dear friend.”

“Keep it quiet for now,” Alistair cautioned. “You’re the only one who knows, other than Anora and me.” Suddenly his eyes brightened. “Say, I don’t suppose you’d like to come stay in Denerim for a while, act as palace healer? We could really use one, under the circumstances, and I’m sure Daniel could find something for you to do with the rest of your time.” He chuckled.

“An interesting idea,” Judith said, “but I don’t think I’ll have time.” She looked around. “There’s so much to do here, so many responsibilities. I don’t see how I could leave.”

“Well, the offer stays open, in case you change your mind. In the meantime, we really do need a palace healer—and a few more in Denerim in general. Anyone you know who might fit the bill?”

“I do know one mage who would love the idea of an excuse to keep an eye on her favorite ex-Templar,” Judith grinned. “Wynne’s been at the College of Magi long enough to get sick of the whole gaggle … I’m sure a well-placed letter would bring her running. And you can’t ask for a better healer.”

“Of course! I thought she was still traveling the world—I’ll write to her straight away,” Alistair said. He looked at Fergus, who had just joined them. “You ready to go? I’d like to get back to Denerim before Anora worries too much.”

“Absolutely,” Fergus said. He kissed Judith on the cheek, and Alistair hugged her gently, and the two of them were off, collecting their men for the return trip.

Judith met Daniel’s eyes across the room. He’d been watching her, looking troubled, and she determined to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering him. She crossed the room, taking his arm. “I’m ready for that private chat if you are,” she said quietly.

“Good.” He led her from the room.  
\----- ------ ----- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ----- ----- -----  
Deep in the earth, the dungeon was damp and cold under Rylock’s metal boots as she stared down at the mage’s body in disgust. Blood spattered her armor and the dead mage’s robes, and for what? For nothing! She’d learned nothing, and the mage had been silent and uninteresting under Rylock’s most creative ministrations. She seemed to almost welcome Rylock’s punishment, crooning snippets of the Chant of Light as long as she’d had breath to speak with. Rylock wasn’t even completely sure what she was supposed to find out—mostly, the orders were about the blood. Testing the blood, seeing if the mage reacted to the tests on the blood, that kind of thing. The questioning was Rylock’s personal touch—she liked to hear them try to please her, their arrogance humbled for once.

Rylock bent, collecting as much of the blood dripping from the mage’s wrist as she could. What good the blood of dead mages might be, she couldn’t imagine, but she was told increasingly less as time went on. Which was fine by her—it was enough for Rylock that they were punishing the mages, taking them out one by one. Far be it from her to care why. Especially not when she woke every night with visions of him in her head; visions of him dripping wet, water glistening on those muscled shoulders, that blond hair loosened from its ponytail, that crooked grin widening as he closed on her … Rylock cursed, her hand shaking so that she spilled some of the blood from the vial. Anders must be some kind of abomination that he’d bewitched her so. 

As she knelt there next to the mage—what had her name been? Kaylee? Keely? Kylie? Something like that—Rylock could hear the echo of footsteps coming down the hallway. Was he bringing a new subject, maybe? She stood, putting a stopper in the vial of blood, waiting.

The door opened. Carroll came in, looking with exaggerated sadness at the still form on the floor. “Keili,” he said. “I always liked her.” Suddenly he giggled. “She hated mages almost as much as we do.” Carroll’s eyes were fever-bright, as always, and Rylock wondered if it was wise of their superiors to keep feeding the man more lyrium. He sobered, then, looking at Rylock. “You’re out.”

“I’m out?”

“They don’t trust you.” He giggled again. “He thinks you drink too much.”

“Half the rest of you are looped on lyrium more often than not,” Rylock scoffed. Carroll shrugged, moving closer to her, and suddenly it became clear—she wasn’t being sent away, she was being eliminated. Not bloody likely, she thought, surprised that they had only sent Carroll. They must have thought she was completely out of her mind with the drink. When the blade appeared in his hand, she was prepared, and she knocked it away with a vicious kick. Carroll stared at her in surprise, and she followed up with a blow to the head that sent him reeling back. It was his bad luck that he slipped in the blood, falling. She heard a crack as he hit his head. As she ran from the dungeon, hoping there were no reinforcements waiting for her, she thought Carroll was going to have an Archdemon of a headache when he woke up. If he woke up. 

There were no others—the leader was either sloppy, overconfident, or short-handed, Rylock thought—and soon she was in the forest, moving quickly. Her entire being focused on one thing: finding some way to get Anders out of Vigil’s Keep. They had unfinished business, he and she.


	22. Leadership

_11 August:_

Judith closed the door of her chamber behind Daniel. She crossed the room, sinking down onto her bed in relief, her hand going to her abdomen. She felt better than she would have expected, but was still sore from her injuries.

Daniel didn’t miss the motion, and his heart went out to her. More than anything, he wanted to just hold her and offer comfort. But her insistence on getting up from her sickbed—a sickbed in which she could easily have died—and going straight back to work angered him almost as much as it frightened him. He shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to broach the topic.

“What is it, Daniel? All morning it’s been strange looks and cryptic comments. It’s not like you.”

“How do you know what’s like me?” he snapped. He hadn’t intended to yell at her, but her irritation irritated him. “You’ve hardly spent any time with me.”

“Is that what this is about?” She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re feeling neglected?!”

“We’ve been married for fifty days, Judith,” he said. “You know how many nights we’ve spent together as a married couple?”

It hurt that she had to count. He knew the number intimately. “Four?” she said at last.

“Oh, you noticed,” he said. “I’m glad my presence on those rare occasions was memorable, even if it took some consideration.”

“I’ve had rather a lot to do, in case you hadn’t noticed!” Judith shouted, standing up. “Look around you! Darkspawn attacks, mutant creatures out to destroy the world, and oh, yes, I nearly died!”

“I bloody well know you nearly died,” Daniel shouted back. “Because you always have to do everything yourself. Can’t you let someone else take a risk or two for once?”

“A good leader leads, Daniel. I can’t hang back and ask others to do what I daren’t do myself.”

“That’s how armies end up leaderless, because the leaders run out in front and DIE!” Daniel said. “And don’t talk to me like I don’t know how to lead. I was leading men when you were still well-fed and sheltered in your Tower!”

Judith blinked. He was right, and she had forgotten that. She’d overlooked Kylon the warrior in her acceptance of Daniel the devoted husband. “Then you know,” she said, less heatedly.

“I know that you work too hard. The Architect nearly broke you in the Wending Wood because you had pushed yourself too far, and he pushed you that little bit farther. Then you allowed yourself a whole day to recover—how self-indulgent—and got right back to it again. Is it any wonder you were nearly killed? The real wonder is that you made it as far as you did. And now you want to jump right back into the rebuilding process with both feet. When do you stop, Judith, when you fall over from the taint?”

“Yes,” she said, exasperated. “I’m a Grey Warden, Daniel. That’s for life. I can’t just put it down when I feel like taking a vacation!”

Daniel turned around, facing the wall and taking several deep breaths to calm himself. “Look,” he said finally, “I never objected, did I? You needed to leave Denerim—your people were under attack, you had responsibilities. I waited there while you fought here—I would have come and helped, you know, fought at your side, if that’s what you’d wanted. But I waited.”

He’d wanted to help? Judith bit her lip. She’d never considered asking, had assumed he was too busy in Denerim. Had, in fact, forgotten that he could help. She had thought of him as an Arl. But she didn’t say any of that, and he went on.

Daniel sighed, looking back at her. “I hoped you would ask for help, or let Riordan pick up some of the duties of Second, after your encounter with the Architect. But you didn’t do that, either. You coddled Riordan, you let him sit here and mope. Don’t you think it would have helped him to be out and fighting the darkspawn that took his friends down? Wouldn’t it have been better than brooding here while you did all the real fighting? You treated him like an old man ready for his Calling, and very soon that’s what he’ll be.”

Judith paled, sitting down again. She hadn’t noticed that, either. “I was trying to do what was best,” she said. “The Architect, the Mother—they threatened the entire Arling, and after that, the country. Someone had to get rid of them.”

“And I didn’t argue about that, either, did I?” The familiar gentleness was in his eyes now. “I let you go, because I knew, even in your condition, you needed to see the Architect die. But Judith, I’m arguing now.”

“About what?”

Daniel went down on his knees in front of her, taking her hands. “Come away with me. Just the two of us. We’ll go to Highever and you can meet my mother, we’ll …” Her face was already tightening, so he didn’t go on to suggest that they try and find her family, as he might have if she’d looked favorably. “We’ll go wherever you want,” he finished.

“I can’t, Daniel. Not now.”

“Then when? When won’t there be a crisis? When won’t one of us have something to do that seems more important than spending time together? Our life together won’t wait forever, Judith, and you can’t keep putting it off.”

She looked at him with annoyance. Did he really think it was that easy? “I have responsibilities, Daniel! I have a keep to put back together, an Order to rebuild …”

“I have responsibilities, too. And we both have perfectly competent people who can help with those responsibilities! Let Riordan take command here—give him something to do that’s important, that will allow him to take his Calling with pride. Trust your other Wardens to recruit, to build the Order. Judith, please!”

Judith’s eyes narrowed angrily. How dare he lay this guilt trip on her? As if she didn’t have enough to worry about! “I’m sorry, Daniel, it’s just not the right time,” she said, shaking her head. She removed her hands from his and stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to see to.” She stalked to the door, flinging it open, refusing to allow the defeated slump of his shoulders to make her feel badly. He should have known better.

She climbed the steps to the battlement, needing the clear space around her so she could compartmentalize the various tasks before her and try to plan clearly. The temperature of the day was rising, and the breeze felt good wafting over her face.

Judith had finally achieved a measure of calm when she heard the crunch of boots on the debris scattered across the stone and heard Loghain’s dry voice. “That dwarf—not the crazy one, the other one—says the walls were compromised during the battle. He suggested it’s not safe to be up here.”

“Then why are you?” she asked coolly.

“It seemed the most likely place to get away from all the hubbub. I didn’t know the Commander had already staked it out.”

“Now you do,” she said. She didn’t look at him, hoping he’d get the message and go back downstairs.

He didn’t. Instead, he sat down on the stone bench, looking out over the Arling.

“Something I can do for you, Loghain?” Judith asked, sighing in exasperation.

“What do you intend to do with me, now that you have me?” he asked.

“I didn’t know at breakfast—do you think I’ve had nothing better to do than worry about you?” she snapped. 

“Pardon me for finding it a matter of some interest,” Loghain said stiffly.

“What would you do with you, then?” Judith asked, more to shut him up than because she actually expected an answer.

Loghain stared at her for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled.

“What?”

“Truthfully, Commander, I wouldn’t know what to do with me. I’ve always been a ‘lead-by-doing’ kind of man, never particularly good at asking others to do the job for me.”

“So if you were in charge, you’d let an experienced warrior and leader—such as yourself—sit around and twiddle his thumbs?”

“Something like that, yes.” Loghain stared out over the land, frowning. 

“That sounds like a waste of resources.”

“How can you ask other people to do something you wouldn’t do yourself?” Loghain shrugged. 

Judith turned around, staring at him intently, looking to see if he was somehow joking, or making sport at her expense. It was entirely too close to what she had said at Daniel. Loghain’s frown didn’t ease, however, and he didn’t seem aware of having said anything of great import. “How has that worked for you?” she asked.

He snorted. “I thought it was going rather well, actually. Until Ostagar. And since then I’ve gone from commander of the armies to regent to traitor to father-in-law to farmer, and made a hash out of all of them, if I understand popular opinion correctly. Now I’m a Grey Warden, and I just don’t know how to reinvent myself this fast.” He got up from the bench. “But clearly I’m disrupting your thinking time, and not getting any of my own. I’ll take my leave.”

She watched him move slowly toward the stairs. His movements were weary and ponderous, and she thought swiftly back over everything Daniel had said about her letting Riordan grow old and useless stuck in the keep, about never taking the time to actually live her life, about losing the leader if the leader always took the brunt of the battle. “Loghain!” she called suddenly. He turned, his eyebrows raising in question. “Thank you for coming up.”

He watched her suspiciously, clearly looking for sarcasm.

“Two days hence, you’ll take a small party and lead a recruiting mission. We need good fighters.” 

Loghain nodded slightly. “Aye, ser.”

“Excellent. We’ll talk details later—meet me in my office after dinner.”

“May I choose my party?”

“You can make suggestions, but I hardly think you know anyone in the Wardens well enough to make an informed decision.” 

“Indeed,” Loghain said, doubt strong in his tone. But he seemed to move more lightly as he turned toward the stairs.

When Loghain was gone, Judith turned back toward the landscape, looking out over her Arling. She’d nearly lost it to the darkspawn—but she hadn’t, largely because of the supportive team who had come to her aid. Would there have been less damage still if she had asked for help earlier?

She turned, looking down into the courtyard of the keep. Daniel was down there, his shirtless back glistening with sweat as he helped Voldrik and his team move rocks in preparation for rebuilding a wall. Judith was surprised to see Daniel there. Her experience with arguing with men—primarily Alistair—had led her to believe that after a fight they needed to hit something, or run off and sulk. But Daniel pitched in and helped out. She realized that his supportive warmth had always been at her back, even when she responded to his flurry of letters with only a couple of notes, even when she sent her letter asking for help to Alistair instead of to him, even now, when she had refused to go away with him—the only thing he’d asked of her in their brief marriage. In the way she had saved her Arling and the Wardens, she had risked losing the most precious gift she’d ever received. 

Was he really asking for so much? Just some time together, that was all he’d requested. She’d acted as though he wanted her to leave the Wardens for good—she’d overreacted, in point of fact, pretty strongly. 

Suddenly Judith turned, hurrying from the battlement down the stairs. She burst into the courtyard of the keep, moving as fast as her still-healing wounds would let her. “Daniel!” she called.

He straightened, running a hand through his red hair to push it out of his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Judith said breathlessly, not paying attention to the curious workers or to Voldrik’s annoyed voice shouting for his crew to get back to work. “I haven’t listened enough, or paid enough attention, and I should have.”

The brown eyes studied her warily. “And?” he asked.

“And I’d like to do better,” she said softly. “Starting now. As soon as I’m healed, I’ll be happy to take that trip with you. If you still want to.” She rested her hands on his waist.

“Are you sure?” His eyes softened, but she could still see the hurt there.

“I really mean it, Daniel. You’ve given me so much—I want to do this for you. For us.” She looked up at him beseechingly.

Daniel wasn’t proof against those soft blue eyes. His arms slid around her waist, and he smiled. “I’ve wanted to hear that for a long time.”


	23. Announcements

_11 August:_

Anora sat at her desk, her head bent over the draft of a proposal for new trading contracts with Orzammar. As she understood it, the new King, Harrowmont, didn’t entirely support trade outside the city, but of course, the dwarves couldn’t survive entirely without the outside world … and as long as the Deep Roads were the only place to get lyrium, the outside world couldn’t get by without Orzammar. Harrowmont would learn that, as his predecessors had, or Orzammar would find itself another king, Anora reflected.

She was marking a particularly poorly phrased paragraph with her quill when she heard noises from the corridor outside. Careless of the potential for ink splatters on the document, she threw down the quill and stood, hastily smoothing her dress and her hair in the hope that it was her husband returning. Her heart pounded in a way it never had for Cailan. But then, after a return from any absence, Cailan’s haste and eagerness would have been to impress her with his exploits, to show himself off. Anora had learned to see Alistair as a man who was concerned with her opinions and reactions, and the sincerity of his desire to please touched something in her heart that all Cailan’s flamboyance never had.

Voices in the hallway confirmed her suspicions. Relief flooded her—she hadn’t realized until now how worried she’d been that he wouldn’t come home. Instinctually she smoothed her hair again, but she stayed demurely behind the desk. No use letting him know how he affected her. Thoroughly her father’s daughter, Anora wasn’t comfortable allowing her emotions free rein, or even allowing them to show too clearly. In such trust came vulnerability, and Anora had no intention of being too vulnerable, in front of her husband or anyone else.

The door flew open, and Alistair came in, calling out, “Anora? Are you in here?” His eyes found hers. He seemed startled and uncharacteristically at a loss for something to say.

Anora’s throat was suddenly dry. She cleared her throat. “Welcome home, Alistair.” As her eyes surveyed him, finding him whole and unharmed, her knees threatened to buckle beneath her from relief.

Wordlessly he crossed the space between them, taking her face in his hands and kissing her. Anora gasped at the unexpectedness of it, allowing his tongue entry into her mouth, and then her arms were around his neck, holding him close, as they tasted each other hungrily. She pressed herself against the warmth of his body, feeling an urgent heat between her legs, and so was shocked when Alistair broke the kiss, stepping back from her. He controlled himself with an effort, wanting nothing more than to lay her back across the desk, splatters of ink and all, and sink into her surprisingly welcoming warmth.

Anora pulled herself together, taking several deep breaths to dispel the need she felt. 

“Anora,” Alistair said hoarsely. “There is—something I have to tell you. It’s about … Loghain.”

Passion fled in the wake of fear. “Is he dead?” The even worse fear—that Alistair had killed him—went unvoiced.

“No,” Alistair said. “But he was wounded.”

“I must go to him!”

“It’s too late,” Alistair said, putting a restraining hand on her arm. “His wound was a serious one—he was bitten by a darkspawn. They had to perform an emergency Joining ceremony. Your father has become a Grey Warden.”

“He’s become a what?!” It was the last thing she expected to hear, and the irony was too strong for it to be true. 

“It was the only way to save him from dying of the taint,” Alistair said. 

Anora began to laugh uncontrollably. Alistair watched her in concern. Was she hysterical? At last, she managed to catch her breath. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “It’s just … after all the effort he went through to rid Ferelden of the Grey Wardens, and all the strife between the two of you … How fitting.” 

“I … suppose that’s one way to look at it,” Alistair said, still watching her as though he thought she’d gone out of her mind.

“You thought I’d be angry?” She looked at him searchingly. Then comprehension dawned. “No, you were angry. At having to sully your precious Wardens with my father’s blood.”

He didn’t need to answer. His shame-faced look said it all.

“I don’t imagine it ever occurred to you, of course, that your child will be sullied with my father’s blood. As am I. Or are we less important than the Grey Wardens?”

“What? No! That’s not—how I saw it at all,” Alistair finished lamely, realizing that of course she was right—it hadn’t occurred to him that his child would share Loghain’s blood. Now that she brought it up, he felt even more miserably conflicted than he had before.

“I see.” Privately, Anora thought the Grey Wardens were just what her father needed, and having her father as a Grey Warden was just what her marriage and the country needed. She could not have been more delighted with this turn of events. She understood Alistair’s point of view, even if she disagreed with it. But it stung, nonetheless. “Perhaps some time to yourself would be a good idea, then. I find I’m quite tired recently.” She put a hand ostentatiously on her stomach and swept past him. At the doorway, she turned to look at him. “I’m certain you will be tired—I will have a meal sent up to your rooms. Rest well—we have a busy day tomorrow.”

She left him standing in the middle of the room looking surprised and sad.  
\------ ----- ------ ------ ------ ----- ------ ------ ------ ----- ----- -----  
 _12 August:_

Judith looked around the room at the assembled Wardens and staff. “First of all,” she began as they watched her expectantly, “I want to thank you all for your bravery during the siege on the Tower. And to commend Oghren, Velanna, and Shianni for their work in the city of Amaranthine and in the battle against the Mother. I consider myself extremely blessed to be in command of such a powerful group of fighters, and if the coffers can stand it once the Vigil has been rebuilt, I’ll see to it that you all get a bonus.” Judith looked to the back of the room where her treasurer, Mistress Woolsey, sat. Woolsey rolled her eyes at the news, but with an indulgent smile. Everyone else cheered. As the noise died down, Judith took a deep breath. “I have a couple of announcements to make, while I have you all here. First: in a week’s time, Loghain will be leading a recruiting party across Ferelden. Oghren, I’d like you to accompany him, since you’re the most experienced traveler we have.” 

Oghren raised his mug, giving a large belch. “You let me know, Loghain, if you need any advice on courtin’ the ladies. They love a Grey Warden, ya know.” He leaned over, whispering Oghren style, which meant they could probably hear him in the courtyard. “The taint does wonders fer yer stamina. Ya can go fer HOURS. Ain’t that right, bronto?” He smacked Shianni in the rear, causing the red-head to giggle and Loghain to cross his arms and scowl at Judith.

He’d have a bit more to scowl at in a moment, she thought. “I think it would be helpful for recruitment in the Alienages if you had a member of that community along, so Shianni will be joining you as well.”

Loghain’s eyes widened in something that looked like panic as Shianni squealed and planted a loud kiss on Oghren’s lips. Anders was nearly choking with laughter and even Nate’s mouth was twitching.

“And since there are still some roving bands of darkspawn on the roads, you’ll need a mage,” Judith said. “Velanna, that would be you.”

Velanna jumped out of her chair in shock. “But—why me? I assure you, the Dalish will not welcome me,” the mage said.

“I can’t spare Anders from the Vigil. There are too many wounded here who require his supervision.”

“Then why can’t you go?” Velanna muttered sulkily.

Judith caught the elf’s eyes and held them squarely until Velanna blinked and looked away.

“As you say, Commander,” she said, so quietly Judith had to strain to hear her.

“To answer Velanna’s question,” Judith said. She swallowed, feeling nervous and guilty about this announcement. If Daniel hadn’t been standing in the back of the room, his brown eyes still hard with distrust, she might have considered backing out. “I will not be accompanying the recruiting party because … I’m, um, going on my honeymoon.” She muttered the last few words.

The tension eased itself from Daniel’s body. He’d seen the hesitation, and it hurt him that she was still not whole-heartedly on board with the plan, but at least she hadn’t chickened out on him. 

“Congratulations, Commander,” Finbar called out.

“Enjoy yourself, my dear,” Riordan said. “Not that you need any encouragement in that area, I’m certain.” He winked across the room at Daniel.

“Don’t do anything Oghren wouldn’t do,” Anders said, grinning.

“Too bad nug-humper back there i’n’t a Grey Warden,” Oghren said. “Hope he can keep up with you, Commander.”

“If you do it right, Oghren, once is enough,” Daniel said. He smirked at the dwarf, and Judith blushed.

“I’m so glad you all approve,” Judith said tartly. “In my brief absence, Riordan will be in charge here at the Vigil, with Nathaniel and Varel as his assistants. I know you’ll all do me proud. Meeting adjourned.”

With a scraping of chairs and a hum of conversation, everyone got up to leave the room. Velanna wandered out into the sunshine, thinking that despite her protests, it would be nice to be out in nature again, even if it meant visiting filthy cities on the way. She jumped in surprise when a firm, warm hand closed on her arm. 

Nathaniel pulled her close, shuddering as her body pressed against his. “Meet me in my room tonight,” he rasped urgently.

“Why would I do something like that?” The tartness would have sounded more believable if it wasn’t so breathless. His nearness sent flashing pulses of electricity through her body.

“Because you want to,” he murmured, capturing her lips with his own. She couldn’t deny it, not when her mouth accepted his tongue as if it belonged there, not when her fingers tangled in his hair to hold him to her, not when she whimpered in disappointment as he ended the kiss.

Velanna couldn’t speak to say yes, but Nathaniel smiled anyway, his finger tracing her wet lips. “I’ll see you tonight.”


	24. Embarking

_19 August:_

It seemed hard to believe it had only been a week since she’d announced this trip to her assembled Wardens. Now Judith was riding out of Denerim with her husband, bound for Highever where she would be meeting his mother for the first time. What would the elder Mrs. Kylon—now Mrs. Brigham, Judith remembered—make of Judith and Daniel’s somewhat unconventional marriage? Would she think Judith should step down as Warden Commander to be a proper helpmeet to her husband? Would she be nervous around Judith, or be fearful that somehow Judith’s magic might hurt Daniel? 

All the questions made Judith’s head hurt, and she felt at least the ten thousandth pang of remorse that she had agreed to this. Her eyes rested on Daniel’s broad back and shining red hair as he rode ahead of her. He tilted his head back and laughed at something Fergus Cousland had said, and Judith felt a surge of affection for her handsome husband. She reminded herself that this trip meant a great deal to Daniel, which was, at heart, why she had agreed to it. 

Looking sympathetically at Fergus, she knew that it was good they were accompanying him to Highever Castle. The gruesome task ahead of him had been put off too long as it was—no use leaving whatever remained there to moulder through another winter, but she sympathized with Fergus’s inability to do it by himself. The Teyrn was a confident but reserved man, in Judith’s experience, and she had a hard time imagining him asking this favor. He and Daniel must have formed quite a bond, working together in Denerim. Judith felt another pang, this time of envy, at the camraderie and friendship Daniel seemed to have been enjoying while she spent most of her days fighting darkspawn and most of her nights poring over account books and other papers with Mistress Woolsey and Varel. 

Daniel turned in his saddle, disrupting Judith’s ever-darkening thoughts. “Come on, slowpoke!” he called. “We’re never going to get there at this rate.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. Lifting the reins, she flapped them on the horse’s neck. It merely snorted in what Judith was sure was contempt and kept plodding along. She was very glad they’d never had to deal with these beasts during the Blight. “I could walk to Highever faster than this!” she called ahead to Daniel.

With irritating ease, he turned his horse around, trotting back to ride alongside Judith. “You just have to show it who’s boss,” he explained. “Take a firmer hand on the reins.” Privately, he found her difficulty with the horse adorable. The no-nonsense, fully-in-charge Commander of the Grey, unable to control a horse. He reached out, putting a hand on her reins and pulling the horse to a stop. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Judith looked at him in instinctive panic, but her fear melted at the look on his face.

“Have I mentioned how glad I am that you agreed to take some time off with me?” he asked huskily. “I know it wasn’t easy for you, but it means a lot to me.” His lips met hers in a sweet, loving kiss, and the resentment Judith had been nurturing dissolved.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, resting her cheek against his for a moment. Then the horse made an impatient movement under her, and Judith grasped the pommel of the saddle, gasping. “What did it do that for?”

“Horses,” Daniel said, shaking his head seriously. “They really don’t like affection.” He grinned at her startled expression and Judith narrowed her eyes.

“It occurs to me that there was nothing in the marriage vows that prevents me from using magic on you.”

Daniel felt a flutter in his stomach. “Well, now, doesn’t that sound interesting,” he drawled suggestively.

“Really?” Judith stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’d, um, let me do that?”

He nodded. “Maybe just a little.”

Warmth gathered in Judith’s body, turning her limbs weak, and she was glad of the horse beneath her, holding her up. She had clearly not given enough thought to this side of the trip.  
\------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ---- ----- -----  
Back in Denerim, Alistair concentrated on sitting straight in his chair and looking as though he was paying attention to the droning voice of Orik Fedris, representative of Orzammar’s smith caste. Orik was here on Harrowmont’s orders to negotiate … something. That much Alistair had picked out of the long, boring sentences filled with words that all sounded the same. Alistair was ready to promise the dwarf anything if only he’d take himself and his voice somewhere far away and bother someone else with it. 

He wished Anora was here to listen and help him understand all the ramifications, but she was indisposed again. This had happened several times in the past week since Alistair had returned from Amaranthine, and he found himself genuinely confused as to whether the pregnancy was making her sick or whether the presence of Alistair made her sick. He was sympathetic toward the former and wasn’t sure he could blame her if it was the latter. Either way, he was counting the days until he could realistically expect Wynne to arrive in response to the letter he’d sent her.

As he sat, trying to decipher what the dwarf actually wanted out of this meeting, a sharp knock on the door startled both of them. The dwarf looked displeased, and Alistair fought hard to keep the relief off his face as he called out, “Enter!”

Erlina, Anora’s maid, poked her face into the room. “Beg pardon to disturb you, Your Majesty, but the Queen desires your—Please, you must come now.” The maid broke into a flurry of Orlesian that Alistair couldn’t follow, but he didn’t need to. He was thoroughly aware of how much Erlina despised him, and anything that brought her to his door asking him to attend the Queen had to be serious. 

He babbled a few words to Orik, who stood, bowing stiffly, clearly displeased. On his way out the door, Alistair asked the nearest guard to escort Orik to Teagan’s office. Teagan would almost certainly have a better understanding of what the dwarf wanted, anyway, Alistair thought. 

Erlina pushed the door to Anora’s chamber open without knocking, a privilege Alistair had never been granted, and rushed inside. He found Anora lying in bed, staring into space, silent tears running down her face. She looked up at him, her blue eyes stark and miserable.

“What is it, love?” he asked gently, sitting down next to her on the bed and taking her hand in his. 

Anora pressed her lips together, making an effort to speak without her voice wobbling. “I believe … I may be in the process of miscarrying,” she said. It took more out of her than she’d imagined it would to say those words, and her control broke. 

Alistair took her in his arms, holding her close as she sobbed desperately. It was a side of Anora Mac Tir Theirin few had ever seen, and Alistair pushed his own reaction to her words away in order to comfort her. 

“Sh-sh,” he whispered into her hair. “Sh-sh. It’s all right. We’ll try again. We’ll keep trying.”

“What if we never—if I can’t—I wanted this so much,” she stammered before dissolving into tears again.

“Love, I’m not exactly an expert at these things,” he said awkwardly as Anora’s tears began to slow and her breathing evened a bit, “but can you tell me what makes you think you’re … you know?” he finished, not wanting to say the word.

“I’m bleeding,” she sniffled. “Down there, Alistair,” she said tartly when he began looking her over.

“Oh. Right. Of course,” he said. “Um …” His brain raced, trying to think. Wynne wouldn’t be arriving for at least a week, if not longer, and by then … He didn’t want to think about it. 

Who else was in Denerim? Judith had left that morning, could he send someone after her? But what did Judith know about babies, anyway? Maybe she wouldn’t be the best choice. He thought briefly of his sister—she had children, she must know something about babies—but he didn’t want to give Goldanna the time of day, much less entry into the castle and his private life. Rocking Anora gently, worried beyond all else by the fact that she lay quietly in his arms and let him comfort her, Alistair thought that the only healer he knew of in the city was at the Pearl. Of course, he thought. Surely women of … easy virtue must occasionally get pregnant. Surely Sanga’s healer would know what to do. He sent Erlina to the Pearl, glad that the maid seemed to accept that as a sensible idea and didn’t stop to argue on her way.   
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ----- ------ ----- -----  
About the only good things to be said for this day, Loghain reflected, were the solidness of a good horse and the warmth of the summer sun. Everything else around him was clearly an instrument of torture. 

They’d set off from the Vigil this morning, after a week’s worth of delays and squabbles about supplies and general difficulty working with—or, rather, for—Loghain, who’d made it clear from the first that he was in charge, to nobody’s approval. And they were hardly making good time. At this rate, they’d be lucky to collect a single recruit. Although the Commander hadn’t specified exactly how long she expected Loghain and his rag-tag party to be gone—perhaps she expected him to travel the country indefinitely filling up the Wardens’ halls with eager joiners.

Not that Loghain minded so much traveling the country. It was the companions!

“Sodding horse! ‘Taint no way for a dwarf to travel, ridin’ one o’ these infernal creatures. Much rather be ridin’ yer sweet ass, bronto.”

“Andraste’s tits, Grenny, I’ll be in no condition for any of that after being on a horse all day. My ‘sweet ass’ is chafing in this saddle. Must be red as your hair.”

“The two of you are the most disgusting things nature ever created. Can you not keep your personal affairs to yourselves?”

“Shut up, Velanna! You’re just mad you had to leave Nate behind.”

“’Oh, Nathaniel, I find I shall miss you…’ By the Stone, blondie, didn’t know you had it in ya!”

Loghain turned in his saddle, glaring icily at all of them. “If the three of you don’t shut up, I will feed you to the next darkspawn we see, and enjoy the thought of the indigestion you’ll give them.”

There was a silence, and then Oghren burst out laughing. “Darkspawn farts!” he chortled. He smacked at his knee, missing and hitting the horse in the shoulder. Startled, the horse took off at a gallop and Oghren toppled off its backside, falling to the ground. “I’m okay!” came the dwarf’s voice, followed by a deep belch.

Groaning, Loghain sped off to catch Oghren’s horse. Any recruit that willingly came along with this bunch ought to have his head examined.  
\----- ------ ------ ------ ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Zevran shifted slightly in his perch in the big tree. She was good, he’d give her that—it had taken him a remarkably long time to find her. But Zevran was relentless when he cared to put his mind to a job, and this one had been quite the motivational challenge. After all the jibes, all the coolness, and all the rebuffs of his manly charms, there was no way he was going to be outwitted by Morrigan now. 

His patience and efforts were rewarded when he saw her emerge from the makeshift hut. It would be cold here when winter set in, and the elf’s sharp eyes could already detect a swelling in Morrigan’s tight skirt. He wondered if she knew how hard it would be to care for herself when winter came and she was vastly pregnant, how much the pregnancy would slow her down. The Crows dealt mercilessly with operatives who were foolish enough to allow themselves to conceive a child.

Settling himself more comfortably, Zev decided to watch a while longer, to make sure there were no surprises before reporting back to Denerim. If the witch had thought to hide completely, she had reckoned without Zevran Arainai, who was ridiculously awesome.  
\----- ------ ----- ----- ---- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----  
The inn was the worst dive Amaranthine had to offer, but due to the darkspawn attack it was as overcrowded as everywhere else in the city. Even out of uniform as she was, Rylock worried about being recognized. She’d spent enough time hunting mages here that quite a few of the shop-owners and inn-keepers knew her. With that concern in mind, she’d chopped off her long dark hair, trusting to the ragged mess that was left to act as camouflage. 

She ate a generous meal in the inn’s tavern, appreciative that, due to relief efforts from Denerim, food was plentiful and cheap for Amaranthine’s people. When she’d finished, she pushed the plate away, reaching for the tankard of ale in front of her. Hunching over the tankard to make herself look unapproachable, Rylock listened to the hum of chatter around her.

“They say them … things went right up to the Chantry door, but the Wardens, they cut ‘em down like butter.”

“That dwarf never did pay me for all the ale he drank. I have half a mind to send the Commander a bill!”

“And the Commander just up an’ left? With the city like this?!”

“Left that Orlesian in charge, she did.”

The last two voices came from a pair of farmers sitting at the next table. Rylock leaned a bit closer to their table, trying to be unobtrusive about it. The Ice Princess had left Amaranthine, had she? Had she taken him with her, or was he still there, still torturing people with his charming smile, his warm eyes, his infernally sexy voice? Rylock shook her head to clear the vision of him away.   
The farmers were still whispering. “Wonder how the Wardens intend to hold the Vigil with so many of ‘em gone.”

“The Howe’s still there, though. Seems to be takin’ over what his Da lost for ‘im. And that mage, too.”

“What, the elf with the big ballistas?” The description was accompanied by a lewd gesture and an even filthier chuckle.

“No, the other one. Big blond guy in the skirt.”

Rylock nearly knocked the chair over as she stood up hastily, overcome with excitement. He was there! Just waiting for her, in a Vigil whose complement was down. Oblivious now to the attention she was garnering, she ran up the stairs to her room, to lie on her pallet and feverishly imagine how she would get him in her clutches … and what she would do with him when she got him there.  
\----- ----- ----- ------ ------ ----- ----- ----- ------ ------ ----- ------  
If there was anything Carroll hated more than cellars, it was mildewy cellars. If there was anything Carroll hated more than mildewy cellars, it was mildewy cellars that dripped all the time. If there was anything Carroll hated more than mildewy cellars that dripped all the time, it was … 

The woman chained to the wall sneezed.

“Now you’ve disrupted my concentration,” Carroll said disapprovingly. “Where was I? … I seem to have lost my train of thought.” He giggled. 

“I’m amazed you have any thoughts left,” the woman said. “Your brain seems too addled to hold much.” She glared at him through the messy jumble of brown hair that partially obscured her face.

Carroll’s fist lashed out, landing in her stomach with a solid thump. She gasped, unable to catch her breath for a long moment. “Now, was that nice?” Carroll said, tutting at her. “See what it got you?”

“Why should I bother being nice to you?” the woman wheezed. “You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

“Who told?!”

“I think she could see that for herself, Carroll. Remember, they’re dangerous because they’re not stupid.” 

Carroll turned. The leader was standing in the doorway, dressed in full noble garb with a sodding cape tossed over one shoulder, like he was some kind of ruddy Prince Charming out of a fairytale. Cullen couldn’t have looked more out of place down here if he’d tried.

Striding into the room, Cullen couldn’t repress a shudder. He was glad to be in charge so he didn’t have to get his hands dirty down here in the dungeons, although he regretted that the few people they could trust were so obviously … impaired. Casting a pitying eye on Carroll, he said, “So how’s it going down here? Finding anything?”

Turning confidently to his ledgers, Carroll said, “No. I’ve followed all the protocols. I bled her, and studied the blood, and mixed the blood together with the blood of the other mages we’ve studied, and it’s still just … blood. I have to think the premise is wrong, Cullen. I just don’t see anything in the blood that makes mages, you know, mages.”

“It has to be,” Cullen said. “If it’s not in the blood, where does it come from?”

Carroll sighed. “Well, maybe if I had two live mages …” he said speculatively.

“No.” The word was explosive. “You can’t trust these creatures enough to have two here at a time. When there are two or more together, they’re trouble. Aren’t they?” he said in a soft, almost caressing voice to the mage against the wall. His gloved hand reached out, taking her chin and lifting her face until her eyes met his. “You and your friend made a lot of trouble in Denerim, didn’t you? Still don’t want to tell me where you hid all the money you stole? That could come in very handy. We might even be able to feed you.”

The mage glared wordlessly at him, not willing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“No matter,” Cullen said. His hand drifted down over her neck, squeezing just enough to distress the mage. “Still, you did us a favor, didn’t you? Made the mages look bad. Made that mage-loving King we have think twice about all the freedoms he promised the Ice Princess.” He let go of the mage’s neck, chuckling as she took in deep gulps of air. “Keep up the testing, Carroll. We may have a new subject for you before too long. I think she’ll be a very … exciting subject.”


	25. Nervous

_19 August:_

Sooner than Alistair had thought possible, Erlina was poking her head into Anora’s room. “I have brought the healer, Your Majesty. May I bring him in?”

Alistair looked questioningly at Anora. She sat up straight, patting her hair. He watched the royal mask come over her face—placid, unflappable, polite, and pleasant. The healer might be about to look under Anora’s skirt, but she wasn’t about to allow him to see inside her. Anora nodded to Erlina. “You may bring the healer now, Erlina. Thank you.”

Erlina pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped in, followed by a brawny bald man in regular working-man’s clothes. He looked more like a blacksmith than a mage. At Alistair’s evident surprise, the man smiled. “It doesn’t pay to look like a mage in Ferelden, Your Majesty.” He removed his cap respectfully, looking at Anora. “My queen, I am Thaddeus. Sanga sent me along to look after you. Your maid says you are with child?”

Anora nodded.

“And you’re bleeding?”

Another nod, this one a bit shakier than the first.

“I see.” Thaddeus approached the bed. “With Your Majesties’ permission, I’ll need to look at and touch certain areas in order to conduct my examination.” He looked pointedly at Alistair, still sitting on the edge of the bed and holding Anora’s hand.

“Oh! Right.” Alistair let go of Anora and stood up hastily, moving out of the mage’s way. 

Thaddeus arranged Anora more comfortably in the bed, and for several minutes the room was silent as he felt and probed her stomach and genitals with both hand and magical sense, making small “hm” sounds. He asked her a few questions about the bleeding and other symptoms, listening intently to her answers. At last he straightened. “You’ll be glad to know that I do sense the second heartbeat—you have not lost the child.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Alistair breathed. He took Anora’s hand in his, pressing a kiss on her fingers, and she smiled at him, her blue eyes clear of shadows for the first time since he’d returned from Amaranthine. 

Thaddeus watched the moment, waiting until the King and Queen were looking at him again. “I recommend limiting your activities for a time, Your Highness. You don’t need to remain in bed—I don’t think that would be healthy, either—but nothing more strenuous than a mild stroll about the garden, please. Some slight bleeding in early pregnancy is not uncommon. Should the bleeding become heavier, or especially if you see a noticeable change in color or consistency, please send for me immediately.” He looked at Alistair. “I would like to remain here at the Palace to look after her, but I have responsibilities elsewhere—in addition to the Pearl, I am making daily calls on several refugee camps. It is a delicate balance, trying to heal where I can without subjecting myself to the scrutiny of those who were once Templars. I can recommend a midwife who could keep an eye on the Queen during her pregnancy, if you’d like.”

Alistair shook his head. “I have sent for a trusted healer, and expect her response any day. It worries me that you still feel you have to hide, though. You should be safe in Denerim. If anyone tries to interfere with you, you may tell them you are under the protection of the King.”

Thaddeus’s eyes met Alistair’s squarely. “There are those out there who wouldn’t stop to ask, Your Majesty. Ask yourself—why aren’t there more mages in Denerim?”

“If you have information …” Alistair began, but Thaddeus cut him off.

“Nothing definite, sire. I … simply know that people I used to count as colleagues have vanished without a trace.” 

Alistair was about to press further, but he caught Erlina’s eye, and the maid looked pointedly toward Anora. Getting the message, Alistair said, “Thank you, Thaddeus. Whatever your fee, I’ll gladly—“

“No need, Your Majesty.” Thaddeus smiled at the Queen. “It was my privilege, and my pleasure. Do call if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Thaddeus.” Anora smiled gently at him, and the mage bowed and left the room. Erlina, at a subtle signal from her mistress, followed, leaving the monarchs alone.

“Anora, I am so sorry.” The words tumbled from Alistair’s lips unexpectedly. “Everything you said was right. I’m a cad and a fool and I’m incredibly lucky to be married to you. I’m going to do my best to make sure you know that. Always.”

Her heart tenderized by the emotions of the day, Anora couldn’t retain her usual reserve. “Alistair,” she whispered, pulling him closer, nestling into the warmth of his arms. “I—“ But even now, those words trembled unspoken on her lips. She simply wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable in front of him. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He rested his cheek on her hair. 

“For … being here. And holding me. And not … not m-making me feel like a f-failure.” She sniffled, remembering the couple of false alarms she’d had when she was married to Cailan. He had tried to be comforting when they turned out to be nothing more than delayed cycles, but empathy had never been part of Cailan’s nature, and he had never been able to disguise his disappointment and irritation. It had always been very clear to Anora that Cailan regarded the heir issue as Anora’s problem and didn’t want to be bothered with it once he’d created one. Alistair, on the other hand, had rushed immediately to her side and been concerned for her, for her feelings; had been willing to share in the disappointment and heartache as well as the fun part. Anora would never forget that.

Alistair tilted her head up so he could look into her eyes. “You are not a failure. You are a highly intelligent, remarkably capable woman who has been the rock holding this nation up since my father died. You have proved your worth and your value over and over again. Yes, we want an heir. Yes, we want this baby to be born healthy and strong so we can love him or her. But Anora, whether you can produce children or not has nothing to do with your success.” He grinned suddenly. “We’ll have to measure your success by whether you keep me from destroying the country with my ineptitude.”

She chuckled, and Alistair felt a glow of happiness at the sound. “I have my work cut out for me, then, don’t I?” At peace in a way she had never expected to be, Anora snuggled close to Alistair, and fell into an exhausted but restful sleep to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.  
\----- ----- ------ ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----  
 _21 August:_

The ocean breezes that wafted over Highever were a blessed relief. Judith thought half the dust from here to Denerim must be sticking to her neck. She devoutly hoped Daniel had thought to take a room at an inn somewhere—she couldn’t imagine meeting anyone, much less his mother, in this condition.

Once they entered the city, Fergus pulled to a stop. “I think this is where I leave you,” he said. He smiled kindly at Judith. “Good luck to you.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

His face darkened, and she knew the question had been too abrupt. “There’s an inn—the innkeeper knew my family. They keep a room for me, so I don’t have to— I’m sure there will be quite a few requests and petitions waiting there for me to deal with. Daniel, day after tomorrow all right? To go … there?”

“Of course.” 

“All right. I’ll meet you at the inn. And Daniel? Thank you.” Fergus turned his horse, heading down the broad main street of the city. Daniel was heartened to see how many of the citizens turned to smile and cheer for the young Teyrn. The support of his people would be good for Fergus, remind him that although he’d lost much, there were still people who believed in and cared for him.

He turned to his wife. “Are you ready?”

“Um?” She looked at him, wide-eyed, one hand straying to the wisps of hair hanging around her face.

“Don’t worry. She’ll love you!” he said cheerfully, completely missing her concern about her appearance. She always looked beautiful to him. He turned the horse, leading her down a cobble-stoned street.  
Judith wasn’t so sure. With a last attempt to push her hair into a passably decent style, she followed Kylon’s horse, wishing hers hadn’t suddenly learned to trot so fast.

They stopped in front of a small whitewashed house at the edge of town. It was neat and tidy and well-kept and fairly shouted a domesticity Judith knew she could never attain. Her stomach churned and she desperately wanted to vomit. And then shower. And then have a couple of barrels of Oghren’s ale. Daniel was already swinging down from his horse, calling out cheerily, “Hello, the house!” He came over to Judith’s horse, helping her get down. Her knees were shaky underneath her, although she wasn’t sure if that was nerves or the effect of having spent the day on horseback.

“There you two are!” a bluff, hearty voice called out. Judith looked over the back of the horse and saw a man with a neat blond beard and twinkling brown eyes coming out of the house.

“Lloyd!” Daniel smiled at the man, leading Judith around the horse and toward the house. “Lloyd, this is my bride, Judith. Judith, my stepfather, Lloyd.”

“Please. Stepfather is such an … old word.” Lloyd grinned. “And in the face of such beauty, I am as young as the spring.” He bowed to Judith.

“He likes to think of himself as a poet,” Daniel said to Judith, shaking Lloyd’s hand. “Where’s Mama?”

“Around back in the garden. Shall we?”

“No need.” A husky voice startled Judith, and she saw a very small woman come around the corner of the house, walking with obvious difficulty. She leaned heavily on a cane that thumped on the cobblestones as she moved.

“Mama!” Daniel moved forward, leaning over to hug the little woman. Judith looked at her tall, strapping husband and then at the small woman in surprise. They did have the same dark red hair, but that was the only resemblance she could see.

“So it takes you all this time to make a short trip to Highever?”

“I’ve been busy,” Daniel protested. “There was a Blight, and then the Arlhood, and the wedding, and …”

“Nobles,” she scoffed. “They’re all the same. Too busy for the little people.” But she smiled at her son, and Judith could see that the woman was extremely proud and fond of her son. “Now, where’s this Hero of Ferelden?”

Judith stepped forward, tugging at the skirt of her armor. “Um, pleased to meet you,” she said.

“Oh?” Daniel’s mother frowned, moving closer to Judith, her dark eyes searching Judith’s face. “Not sure I can say the same.”

Startled, Judith looked up at Daniel. Why hadn’t he prepared her, if his mother wasn’t happy with their marriage? He didn’t seem concerned, and she looked back down at her mother-in-law, who was smiling suddenly.

“I’m delighted!” said Daniel’s mother heartily. “Now, I want you to call me Elda, and I want to know all about you and whether my son’s taking good care of you. Do you mind?” She gestured to Judith’s arm. Judith held it out and Elda leaned on it as the two of them executed a series of ungainly half-steps toward the door of the house. “You have to forgive my Daniel,” Elda said. “He’s been a soldier so long he doesn’t know what matters to a woman.” Her eyes lingered on Judith’s sweaty face and unkempt hair and Judith blushed. “Let’s get you inside and I’ll have Lloyd bring you in some hot water and we’ll have a nice long talk when you’ve had a bath and some dinner.”

And before she knew it, Judith had bathed and dressed and was eating a delicious meal of some kind of meat in a rich sauce with fresh-grown vegetables and crusty bread. “This is wonderful,” she said between mouthfuls.

“Lloyd’s doing,” Elda said, smiling at her husband. “I don’t get around well enough to do a lot of cooking anymore, so he’s taken to it.”

“Well, ser, if you ever tire of being a butcher, I have a keep full of hungry Wardens who would consider you the Hero of Ferelden if you could feed them like this,” Judith said.

Lloyd laughed. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You see yourself staying on as Warden Commander?” Elda’s tone was light and curious, but Judith heard the question as a challenge.

“It’s not exactly optional. Being a Grey Warden is for life.” Even to her own ears, Judith sounded defensive, and she felt Daniel stiffen slightly next to her.

“That’s not how she meant it, sweetheart,” he said.

“Oh.” Judith looked down at her plate. 

Elda set her cup down with a loud clink that startled everyone. “Boys, why don’t you go take a look at the new meat locker? I know Lloyd’s going to want to tell you all about it, Daniel. My daughter-in-law and I will clear the table.” It was not a request. Daniel and Lloyd exchanged a look and got up from the table, almost knocking their chairs over in their haste to leave the room.

Judith stood up and started to clear the table. “Sit down,” Elda snapped. “Are you always so literal?”

Obediently, Judith sat down again. “Yes, I think I am. In the Tower, when they say they want you to clear the table, they mean ‘do it right now, mage, or else’.”

“What was the Tower like? Did you—did you know my daughter?” Elda asked, whatever else she’d wanted to discuss forgotten for the moment.

“No, I didn’t. One of the other Grey Wardens, Anders, knew her. He was with Melanie when she escaped.”

“Escaped?”

“Didn’t Daniel tell you? Melanie escaped the Tower years ago.”

“Where did she go?”

“We don’t know. I want to try to find her for Daniel. And for you.”

Elda nodded slowly. “I would appreciate that. Tell me, Judith—why did you marry my son?”

“Because—because I love him,” Judith said, uncomfortable sharing her feelings so openly.

“And you choose to live in separate cities because?”

“It’s our duty.” Judith shrugged.

“What about family? Isn’t that more important than duty?” 

Judith began to bristle, but she looked across the table at the worn, lined face of Daniel’s mother and realized the question wasn’t a criticism, but rather the wishful thinking of an aging woman who wanted to see her only son happy. Twisting her hands uncomfortably in her lap, Judith said, “About that. Family. I— I’m afraid that isn’t really a consideration. Daniel and I will never— I mean, I can’t— Grey Wardens aren’t fertile,” she finished in a rush, her cheeks flaming.

Elda nodded sadly. “I see.”

“Truthfully, I think this bothers Daniel more than it does me,” Judith said. “In the Tower—Well, mages occasionally have children, but the children are taken away. It’s said they’re given to the Chantry. There are whispers that some become Templars—the very people charged with keeping the mages in line might well be the children of mages. It’s— I never would have allowed myself to become pregnant.”

“My dear,” Elda said, “that is … a disappointment, to be sure. I had hoped to hold a grandchild at least once. But children are not all that marriage is about, of course. You will have to excuse me if I worry for my son’s happiness and well-being—the two of you are in an awkward situation.”

“I know,” Judith said. “I keep hoping things will slow down, the crises will end, so there’s time for Daniel and I to decide how we’re going to make this work.”

Elda grasped Judith’s wrist, leaning across the table and holding Judith’s gaze with her own. “We both know that day never comes. There’s always a crisis. Don’t put off your lives waiting until there’s time for happiness—make your happiness with whatever time you can find. You never know if it’s all you’ll have.”


	26. Highever

_23 August:_

Judith hung back, letting Daniel and Fergus take the lead as they rode through the streets of Highever. As they neared the ruins of Highever Castle, she could see scorch marks on the buildings around here, attesting to the severity of the fire that had destroyed Fergus’s home. Daniel’s mother had told them the fire had threatened the entire city—every available hand had been called out to save the town. In the face of a fire so destructive, Judith didn’t know what Fergus expected to find waiting for him in the ruins, but she could sympathize with the Teyrn’s inability to do the job by himself, alone with his ghosts.

The horses slowed perceptibly as the rubble came into view. Daniel looked at Fergus, seeing his friend’s face whiten, Fergus’s throat working and his eyes wide.

“Are you all right?”

Fergus forced something approximating a smile. “Of course. How else would I be?”

“I meant, can you do this?”

“I have to. It can’t be put off any longer.” Fergus spurred his horse, the animal picking its way over the loose stones littering what used to be the courtyard. 

There were men waiting by the pile of rubble with shovels. One of them, a man with a a droopy grey mustache, stepped forward, touching his cap, as Fergus pulled his horse to a stop. “Yer Grace, we came to help.”

“That wasn’t necessary, Fritz,” Fergus said. His face was unreadable as he looked at the line of men waiting quietly. “But it is appreciated. Thank you all.”

The men murmured an embarrassed response to his appreciation, and Fritz looked at the Teyrn with serious eyes. “They’s many in this town owes yer family, Yer Grace. We bin waitin’ fer the chance to show ‘em our final respects.”

Fergus bit his lip, and Judith found herself blinking away tears at the simple devotion of the people of Highever to the Cousland family. 

The ruins hadn’t been left completely alone—there were signs of rubble having been shifted, a bit of digging here and there. Scavengers were everywhere, clearly. And the people had been through shortly after the attack and removed all the bodies, seeing them to the Maker with due reverence. But the bulk of what remained of Highever Castle was untouched. Fergus stared at it helplessly for a moment. Then Daniel stepped up next to him.

“All right, men, let’s begin over in this corner. Looks to have been the … kitchens, maybe?” he asked, looking at Fergus for confirmation. 

Fergus nodded. “Yes,” he said briefly, his voice squeaking on the syllable. He cleared his throat. “Someone hand me a shovel, please?”

The men set to work, getting their backs into it, moving piles of rubble. It didn’t take long before Fritz had the whole place organized—men shoveling rocks and other debris, men sorting the rubble into piles, a group of women setting up a makeshift kitchen. Judith joined the men, putting her considerable strength into the shoveling. The workers fell into a comfortable rhythm, the men chanting. Judith could hear in their voices how pleased they were to have their Teyrn here, starting to put the Castle back to rights. They were simple men, and loyal, and the Couslands were the standard they pulled together for.

The morning went quickly, and soon the odors of hot coffee and stew were wafting over the work area. The movements of the shovels slowed as the workers became more interested in the rumbling of their stomachs, waiting between each movement for the good word. At last Fritz, in response to a nod from the thin, gray-haired woman stirring the stew, approached Fergus.

“Yer Grace, it’d be our honor if you’d share the midday meal with us. It’s nowt but rabbit stew, but it’s fillin’ and hot.”

“Thank you, Fritz,” Fergus said. “May my friends join, as well? This is Daniel Kylon, Arl of Denerim, and Judith Kylon, Commander of the Grey.”

Fritz’s eyes widened. He looked over at the women in the makeshift kitchen, where a woman with a fat brown-haired toddler resting in a sling on her hip was staring at Judith, her face gone white. Fritz looked back at Judith, bowing before her. “My lady, you honor us with yer presence. Welcome to Highever. And to you, my lord,” he added belatedly, turning to Daniel.

Daniel grinned good-naturedly. One was not the husband of the Hero of Ferelden without getting used to being an afterthought.

The three of them were served the stew and coffee. They sat down with the tin cups, waiting for the other workers to get their meals as well. Despite Fritz’s repeated urgings, Fergus refused to begin eating until everyone had been served. Then he stood, lifting his coffee cup. “My friends, from the bottom of my heart I thank you for being here today. Having you all with me has made this task easier to bear. May the Maker bless each and every one of you, and may he continue to watch over the souls of those who lost their lives defending Highever Castle.”

There were mutters of assent, and then a long spell of quiet as everyone ate. As Judith was finishing the last of her stew, the woman with the toddler approached her. The young woman’s hands were twisting themselves together in front of her. 

“M-my lady, may I speak with you?”

“Of course.” 

“You were at Ostagar, is that correct? You became a Grey Warden there?”

Judith nodded, feeling mystified.

“Did you— Perhaps you met a man there named Jory? Jory Kent?”

Jory! Judith shivered at the memory, hearing the frightened knight’s cry and seeing again the pool of blood that had spread beneath him when Duncan ran him through. “I met Jory,” she said slowly, not wanting to elaborate.

“You did?” The woman’s blue eyes brightened with hope. “I … Do you know what happened to him? He left with Duncan, and I … I never heard from him again.” With a blush, she added, “I’m his wife. Helena.”

“Little Helena?” Fergus asked in surprise. He looked at Daniel and Judith. “Helena is Fritz’s daughter. He was our farrier, and Helena used to come to the Castle with him when he came to shoe the horses.” He looked back at Helena. “I didn’t know about your husband. I’m so sorry.”

“Your Grace,” Helena said.

“Is that the way to talk to someone you once pushed into a horse trough?”

“I believe that was your sister,” Helena said with a smile. “This is my daughter, Ayesleigh. It was Jory’s wish that she be named after the famous battle that ended the Blight.”

It would be, Judith thought, remembering the pompous man and his desire for glory. 

Fergus reached out instinctively and Helena allowed him to take the chunky toddler. The child didn’t protest, and Fergus lifted her high in the air, laughing. Watching as Fergus played with the little girl, Judith felt sad for Fergus, for all he’d lost; Daniel, however selfish it was, felt sad for himself, that the laughing man with the child would never be him. He turned his face away, walking away from the others while he tried to collect himself.

Helena looked at Judith. “You knew my husband.”

“Yes, I did,” Judith said. “He—He loved you very much. I remember, he spoke of you to me, how much he wanted to make a good life for you and the little one.”

“And he … died?”

Judith nodded. Looking into the frank blue eyes of the woman before her, she couldn’t bear to tell the truth. “He died on the field with the other Grey Wardens. In battle.”

Helena bit her lip. “That is the way he would have wanted it.”

Fergus handed the little girl back to Helena. “If there’s anything I can do for you and your little one,” he said quietly, “I beg that you will call on me.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sliding the child back into the sling, Helena smiled up at Fergus. “I appreciate that.”

His back to the others, Daniel ran a hand through his hair. It shouldn’t bother him this much, he told himself. It really shouldn’t. He had Judith, which was more than he’d ever expected. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Glad to see you here, guv.” The voice at his elbow made him jump.

“Rook, what are you doing in Highever?”

The man next to him wore a floppy straw hat that effectively obscured most of his face. “Might be that I have relatives here, guv. Might be that I came ‘cause the Teyrn’s good people. Might even be that I came to keep an eye on you and the Commander.” Rook shrugged. “Can’t never tell why people do what they do.”

“As long as you’re here, you have anything interesting to tell me?” Daniel shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m afraid I don’t have any coin on me, though.”

“Tsk.” Rook grinned. “I’ll throw you a freebie this time, guv.” He stepped a bit closer to Daniel, lowering his voice. “Had a chat with a drunk Templar. She had a lot of interestin’ things to say about a collection of ex-Templars who’re gatherin’ up mages.”

“Gathering up mages?” Daniel cast an anxious look over his shoulder at Judith. “For what?”

“Dunno, she wouldn’t say. Got real scared. But here’s the really interestin’ bit—she said they couldn’t take the Grey Warden mages. Said they ‘didn’t work’.”

“Didn’t work? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ya got me, guv.”

“You’ll let me know if you find anything more?”

“’Course.”

And Rook was gone.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ---- ---- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------  
Zev shifted in the tree, tolerably certain that Morrigan had gone to sleep inside her small cottage. The witch was a wily one, likely to turn up at inconvenient times—Zev had had to scramble for cover once or twice. He believed she was settling in, getting comfortable as she prepared for the progression of her pregnancy. She visited the nearby village occasionally for those supplies she couldn’t make for herself. Judging from the number of white sacks from the confectioners Zev had seen her carrying, pregnancy had given her quite a sweet tooth. He sighed, wondering if she was secure enough that he could take the chance of returning to Denerim and then Amaranthine. He’d never been a particular fan of the forest. He missed fine wines, comfortable beds, and the wet, hot kisses of a certain Grey Warden. Another two days, he promised himself. If she’d shown no signs of moving location by then, he’d take the chance to go report on his findings.

A faint rustling in the brush caught Zev’s ears. After his time here, he was learning what was a normal forest sound and what wasn’t, and this one fell into the latter category. Squinting across the clearing, he made out a faint movement. Holding himself perfectly still, Zev set himself to watch for whoever else was bent on observing the activities of the swamp witch.

From his spot behind the tree, Cullen was equally aware that he wasn’t alone. He’d been by here a few times now, keeping an eye on her—he remembered the apostate from the Grey Wardens’ visits to the Tower during the Blight. As a Templar, Cullen was practiced at sneaking around in the forest—so many mages who ran headed straight for the presumptive protection of the trees, after all—and he was patient. He wanted this one, wanted personally to run the tests on her blood, to see her sneering face turn pale and frightened. His leader would certainly be pleased, as well, bearing no more love for this particular mage than Cullen did. But he couldn’t take Morrigan alone, especially not with that assassin watching her. He’d need the backup that was coming. With a grim smile, Cullen settled in to wait for the others.


	27. Preparation

_29 August:_

Daniel rolled over in the narrow bed. It was a far cry from the spacious beds they had in Denerim or Amaranthine, but he hadn’t had the heart to offend his mother by suggesting they should stay elsewhere.

“Ouch!” Judith pushed at him until he realized he had rolled over onto her hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shifting off the blonde strands. He kissed her temple. “It’s a cozy bed, you have to admit,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

“Cozy’s one word for it,” she said quietly. One of his hands drifted down her back to cup her firm rear, pulling her closer to him. She sighed at the contact of heat against heat. “Daniel, there’s no way,” she protested weakly as the hand traveled down over her thigh, bringing her leg up over his hip. “The bed … too small … too much noise,” she murmured as his hand kept moving, sliding under her nightgown and up over her inner thighs. She gasped, her head falling back, as his hand found its target.

“Sh, now,” Daniel murmured into her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. “They’ll hear you.” His fingers moved between her legs, stroking and rubbing. To cover the moans that rose to her lips, Judith put her arms around him, bringing his mouth down to hers, kissing him with all the desperateness of her need to voice her pleasure.

He kissed her hard, rocking his hips against her while his fingers continued their activities and Judith strained against his hand, moving closer and closer to the pinnacle until her leg tightened around his hip, her hands clutched at his shoulders, and with a deep sigh she relaxed back against the pillows.

“See? The bed’s not so small as you thought, is it?” he whispered, peppering kisses over her face.

She grinned wickedly at him, her own hand sliding into his sleeping pants and finding the throbbing length of him. Daniel groaned, his eyes closing, and Judith whispered, “They’ll hear you,” teasingly against his ear, her tongue lightly tracing his stubbled jawline. As he clenched his teeth, pushing up against her hand, Judith’s mouth moved slowly down over his throat and chest and stomach until it enveloped him, the coolness of her mouth not checking the fire raging through him in the slightest. His hands clutched at the sheets under him as his hips rose and fell with her rhythmic movements until with a final thrust and a strangled moan, he spent himself in her mouth. 

They lay twined together for a few moments. Sleepily, Judith said, “So how long are we planning on staying? Does Fergus need any more help? We seem to have made a fair dent in the rubble this week.”

“No, I think Fergus will doing fine without us. Although it’s a toss-up what has helped more—our companionship, the support of his people, or Helena and little Ayesleigh.” 

“You noticed that too, did you?”

“It was hard to avoid. I think he fell for the baby first, then the mother, but I won’t be surprised if they make a match of it.”

“You are a hopeless romantic, did you know that?” Judith propped her chin up on her hand, smiling affectionately at her husband.

“And an optimist,” he said, looking cautiously up at her.

“What now?”

“I think we should head out tomorrow.”

“And go where?” From the look on his face, it was clear that he didn’t intend to go straight back to either of their homes.

“To see your family.” His arms tightened reflexively around her, keeping her from getting up.

“You have to be kidding.”

“No, I’m not kidding. Judith.” He kissed her hands. “You can’t go the rest of your life not knowing what might happen if you went back.”

“What if they scream and run away from me?” A vague memory of a blonde woman, and of the voice saying “Keep her away from the baby” flashed through her mind, and she closed her eyes. “I’ve had enough of that for one life.”

“But what if they don’t? What if the intervening years have been spent wondering what happened to their daughter, wishing they’d handled it better, wishing they’d never let you go?” Unspoken in his words was his fear that his own sister was out there somewhere refusing to come home because she was afraid of his reaction. He needed Judith to go home because it would be like finding Melanie. “You should give them the chance.”

Judith bit her lip. “You’re never going to let up until I agree to do this, are you?” He shook his head. “Fine,” she snapped. “We’ll go. But … You better hope they don’t put together a lynch mob for the both of us. Frostbacks people aren’t exactly known for their open-mindedness.”

“You’re the Hero of Ferelden. Arlessa of Amaranthine, Commander of the Grey, Slayer of Archdemons, Saver of the World,” he said blithely. “Even in the mountains, they must have heard of you.”

“Oh, yeah?” she muttered. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
He was coming! Rylock ducked quickly back into the bushes. Anders was strolling slowly past with that infernal cat in his arms, stroking and talking to it. Rylock had never been so envious of a piece of fur in all her life, and she glared at it with such ferocity that if she’d been a mage it would have burst into flames. It should be her in Anders’s arms, she thought feverishly, watching the play of his muscles inside the tight fabric of the mage robes. She wanted to run her hands over that body, to take down his hair and feel it covering her …

With an effort, Rylock pushed the image aside and focused instead on exactly where he was going. She’d been watching his movements for a while now, and thought she almost had the rhythm down. Work inside the Vigil, short strolls to the outlying cottages to look in on various patients. He was particularly popular with the small children, conjuring things for them and carrying sweets in his pockets. 

Every few days, as now, he would leave the environs of the keep entirely and go out into the woods hunting elfroot and other healing herbs. He was supposed to take a guard with him, but he rarely did, preferring that precious commodity for a mage, solitude. Arrogant sod, Rylock thought. 

She was absolutely certain she could take him—a quick smite, and then back to someplace suitable while he was still woozy, someplace she could tie him up and keep him quiet. The only thing she needed now was an appropriate place to take him. There were some abandoned buildings not far from Amaranthine—she’d have to find out if they were truly abandoned and see about taking one for herself. Time for that later, she thought, settling back into the bushes and watching the tall mage walk down the road. For now, she could relax and think about what she would do once he was truly hers ….  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
“No, there isn’t a full keg of whiskey per Warden per day,” Loghain snapped impatiently. “Oghren, shut up.”

“Well, ‘scuse me for makin’ the job sound fun,” Oghren sniffed. He wrapped one hairy arm around Shianni’s waist. 

With a harassed grumble, Loghain turned back to the group of prospective recruits in front of him. South Reach was filled with young puppies just panting to become Wardens—his team hardly needed to paint a more glowing picture than the one in the prospects’ little minds of Judith and Alistair facing down the Archdemon. “Do any of you have any actual questions?” So far the recruiting process had been more one of winnowing out the glory-seekers and finding recruits who could fight, and it was hampered by all the ridiculous questions. Were there any griffons at the keep? Would each recruit receive armor made from Archdemon bones? Was it true the Commander was married? (The last came from a tall pup at the back of the group and was accompanied by a lewd gesture. He was backhanded across the mouth for his disrespect by his fellow prospects until he ran off yapping with his tail between his legs.) It was all enough to make Loghain want to tear his hair out.

Velanna stepped forward at last, stabbing her staff into the ground uncomfortably close to Loghain’s foot. “All of you are being ridiculous. The Grey Wardens do not select just anyone,” she said severely to the crowd. 

Leaving aside the obvious comments he wanted to make about Velanna’s own history as a mass murderer, Loghain thought she should save her breath. Most of the drooling puppies weren’t listening to anything but their own blood pounding in their ears as they stared at her nearly bared breasts. 

“All right,” he shouted. “I could tell you what being a Grey Warden entails, but I can see I would be wasting my breath. Get your armor, get your weapons, meet us in the town square and we will see you spar. If any of you can last ten minutes against any one of us in single combat, you’re in.”

There were some shocked gasps at that, the pack of pups clearly having thought their eagerness alone would get them in, and Loghain took careful note of the few who turned immediately to their weapons. Good sturdy farm stock, many of them, and his outlook improved slightly. Maybe he could get enough recruits in this one village to satisfy the Commander and free himself of the torment of further travel with his lewd and unpleasant companions.


	28. Taken

_1 Kingsway:_

Judith began to pack up the small campsite where she and Daniel had spent the previous night. So far, this was turning out to be a good idea, she had to admit it. Although her stomach was fluttering more and more often as they came closer to the little village she barely remembered, the time alone with Daniel had been incredibly restful. He was whistling as he wrestled the tent into submission, and Judith stood watching him, a small smile playing around her mouth.

Daniel looked up from the now-folded tent. “What?” he asked.

“I love you.”

He grinned, standing up and walking toward her. “It’s just a tent. I’m sure you could have folded it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Judith purred. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer. He came willingly, bending down to kiss her.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ------ ----- ----- ----- ----  
Zev was dozing in the fork of the tree when he heard the jingle of mail nearby. There were more noises, as well, people moving through the trees. This was it, then, he thought, sharply awake now. They weren’t even trying to be silent about it. Who ‘they’ were and what they wanted with Morrigan, he hadn’t worked out yet.

He waited, poised but unmoving, to see what would happen. More sounds of movement from the surrounding forest, but nothing from the house. Until suddenly he heard the unmistakable sharp, cool voice of Morrigan. “I know you are there, Templars. Come no closer, or it will go badly for you.”

One of the surrounding party shouted something back at her, but Zev was too startled by Morrigan’s tone to pay attention to the Templar’s words. Someone who didn’t know her wouldn’t have heard the slight quaver at the end of the sentence, but Zev had not traveled with her for so long for nothing. Morrigan was nervous. And if Morrigan was nervous, he would need to be much more careful in his decision-making. He hadn’t recognized the men as Templars, but he respected Morrigan’s greater experience in these matters. Zev suspected the attackers already knew he was there, so escaping to get help didn’t seem a likely move. Moreover, how would he know what happened if he left? Briefly, he considered the idea of letting them kill Morrigan—what a neat little package that would tie things up in—but without more detailed knowledge of what the ritual Alistair had participated in entailed, he couldn’t take that risk. Now he wished he had interrogated the young King; besides information, it would have been worth doing for the sheer amusement value of making Alistair recount the details of his night with the witch.

So it seemed Zev had to stay and form part of the battle. For battle there would be, he was sure of it. 

He didn’t have long to wait. The Tempars were moving in closer, tightening the net. What was Morrigan doing? Shapeshifting? But if she could shapeshift, surely she could just fly out of the cottage, or skitter out as a spider, unnoticed. Suddenly, it occurred to Zev why Morrigan was nervous, why she was still there. Because of the child within her, she couldn’t shapeshift. How the mechanics worked he was sure Morrigan could have explained to him, but even without full understanding Zev knew in his bones that this was why she was in danger.

That put a new tan on the leather, then. Who knew what more of Morrigan’s powers had been dampened by her pregnancy? He shifted carefully, sliding a small well-balanced dagger out of its sheath. He crouched in the bole of the tree, readying himself.

A flash of blue filled the clearing—a holy smite of the area. Zev hoped Morrigan had been ready for that. He saw a single Templar approach the cabin. The armored figure was coming from the opposite edge of the clearing, facing Zev, who was glad to see his adversary was not wearing the standard Templar armor, but instead a rather cheap suit of chainmail. Carefully, Zev took aim. The dagger flew through the air, the gleam of the sun catching it the only indication of its flight. It struck the relatively unprotected expanse of the Templar’s inner thigh and fell to the ground. Despite the shallowness of the wound, the powerful poison coating the blade took effect almost instantly, and a gurgle escaped the Templar as he fell. 

Zev heard whispers near his tree and was glad he had taken precautions against this circumstance. Carefully he got up, scaling the nearest limb until he reached the place where it brushed a large limb from another tree. Quickly he switched trees. In his time in the clearing, he had mapped out a route around the little house, to avoid being stranded up any one tree by an attacker. It served him well today, because the Templar under the third tree he moved to seemed unaware of Zev’s progress. It was an endless amusement to Zev that so many warriors seemed to believe covering their heads with massive helms that cut off their sight and hearing was the safest choice in a battle. Clinging to an overhanging limb with his hands, Zev hung silently down from the tree. His strong legs wrapped around the Templar’s helmet and snapped the man’s neck with a single practiced movement. Lithely he curled back up into the tree. He took a moment, clinging to the limb, to count. As far as he could tell, there had been eight of them, and he’d taken care of two. But in the time it had taken him to move from tree to tree, the rest of the Templars had closed the circle. They were approaching the cottage warily. As Zev watched, one of them put a foot wrong and tripped some kind of ward of Morrigan’s. The Templar gave a shrill scream, body going rigid with pain for a moment before slumping to the ground.

Five left. 

The rest of the Templars paused in their advance, while one, presumably the leader, moved cautiously around the perimeter. From his controlled, ritualistic motions, Zev was pretty sure Morrigan’s wards were being dispelled. It was an interesting thing to watch, this battle between Morrigan’s old magic and the Templars’ practiced resistance. 

He wanted to throw another dagger, but in his current perch didn’t think he could manage to aim it effectively. He shimmied along the limb toward a more stable location.

The Templar who had been testing the approach to Morrigan’s cottage suddenly cried out as a flash of light came from the cottage, wrapping itself around him. He fell, writhing and moaning, clearly out of commission. 

Four.

The other Templars didn’t even go check on their fallen fellow, a fact Zev noted with trepidation. The Crows had never been known to pay attention to fallen members, either, but most groups of fighters didn’t have that kind of discipline. It meant their goal was more important to them than how many people had to die to get it, and that made them a far more dangerous set of adversaries than he had anticipated. He could not afford to become complacent, even now that they were down to four.

Quickly Zev got down from the tree. Speed was more important than subtlety now, and he moved as quickly as he could.

Then he heard the door of the cottage splinter. He came to the corner just in time to see a crossbow bolt shoot through the remnants of the door and spear itself into the neck of another Templar—three. The remaining Templars drew their swords.

“Drop it now,” one of them barked. 

“Very well.” Zev had never heard Morrigan’s voice so defeated, and he could almost hear her thought processes—if she fought, and was killed, the child would die with her, and then what? Zev would have liked to know what would happen if the child was killed inside Morrigan. He had never seen her flinch from battle before, never seen her put living above freedom. If she was willing to do so now, the consequences were the child to be killed must be very serious indeed. Or the child was extremely special. 

Morrigan appeared in the doorway of the cottage. Two of the Templars had her by the arms, and the third walked behind her, a crossbow cocked with the tip of the bolt poking into her spine. 

“I am going of my own volition,” she snapped. “You can let me go.”

“Hardly,” sneered one of the men holding her arms.

Zev, so far unnoticed, took out his last throwing dagger, hurling it with as much force as he could manage at the Templar with the crossbow. From this distance, his aim was rather good, and he was pleased to see the dagger find the gap between the Templar’s helm and the top of the shoulder. The poison worked its magic, and the Templar dropped. The other two whirled in surprise.

Now, Zev thought. Only two? He and Morrigan could take them out easily. But as the thought crossed his mind and a jaunty line of repartee began to bubble to his lips, a crossbow bolt whizzed from the trees and caught him low in the abdomen. He stared down at the shaft of the bolt in shock. He had miscounted. How long since he’d made such an amateurish mistake? 

“Well, now.” A ninth Templar, this one in civilian garb with a cape thrown over his shoulder, had appeared behind Zev. “This is a surprise. Zevran Arainai, unless I miss my guess. If I had known it was you here, I would have taken you out before you wasted so much of my manpower.”

The blood was welling around the wound. Zev, veteran of the Blight, had seen a few wounds like this, and he knew if he could get to the healing supplies in his pack, he would survive this one. But the Templar didn’t need to be aware of that. He allowed his eyes to glaze over as if in pain.

“Too little, too late,” the Templar said. 

Zev buckled his knees, falling to the ground. He made sure he fell to the side, curled a little, so his breathing would be more difficult to see. The pain was legitimately intense now. The Templar leaned over, wrenching the bolt out of the wound, which immediately began to bleed more heavily. With an effort, Zev remembered to give a dying man’s whimper rather than a scream at the pain of the bolt’s removal. 

Without a backward glance—truly a mistake, Zev thought, fighting not to pass out—the Templar walked away, leading Morrigan and the two Templars holding her out of the clearing. Just as she reached the edge of the clearing, Zev saw Morrigan’s fingers wiggle slightly, and there was a faint sensation of cool relief in his body as her unfocused healing spell drifted over him. 

Dimly, he heard a Templar shout in frustration, “’Ere now, no magic!” He hoped she hadn’t endangered herself trying to heal him. Zev waited, conserving his energy, until he was sure they were gone, then with difficulty moved out of the clearing, leaving a trail of his own blood behind him.


	29. Mother

Morrigan walked between the two Templars, her head held high and her features rigidly blank. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her falter, although she had never been this frightened. The walls of this dungeon dripped with dank water, and they were deep enough in the forest that rescue was extremely unlikely. That fool Zevran might have found her cottage, but he would never find her here. Assuming, of course, that he still lived. The wound appeared to have been quite serious, and she couldn’t be sure if any of her healing had reached him. 

To take the edge of her growing terror, she focused on her anger. All that work, following the Wardens throughout the Blight, endangered by these foolish little men! If they harmed the child within her, she would find a way to kill them, Templars or no. Slowly, and very painfully. 

Silently, they led her to a dark room, where they shackled her to a wall. Then the Templars left the room, leaving her there alone. Morrigan sank to the floor, shivering in the cold. Certainly not with fear. She tugged at the shackles, thinking how easy it would be if she could shapeshift … she’d just be gone. And she cursed herself, not to mention Flemeth, for not considering that the child within her could keep her from shape-shifting. She had never given an adequate amount of thought to just how vulnerable she and the child would be, and it would only get worse before it got better, as the child’s demands on her body increased. 

For the first time in her life, Morrigan found herself wishing to be rescued. But who would come? Who had sent Zevran? Alistair? Judith? She had a hard time believing the assassin would have come to find her on his own. Surely if he survived, someone would come looking for her … but what good would it do? They would never find her. They were too far into the forest, too deep underneath, to be tracked here. 

Clenching her teeth against the screams that wanted to be let out, Morrigan reminded herself that she hadn’t believed a woman as fragile and sheltered as Judith Amell could defeat the Archdemon and end the Blight, either. But inside that slender body was a backbone of pure steel—Judith had performed many tasks no one had thought she could. In the darkness that pressed down on her, Morrigan clutched to herself the last hope she had left—that the Hero of Ferelden would come and save her.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----   
_7 Kingsway:_

Even the horses seemed cold as they climbed the snowy paths into the mountains. Judith huddled in her fur robe, thinking dark thoughts of what a bad idea this was. Damn Daniel and his boundless optimism for getting her into this situation! She’d be lucky if they weren’t stoned to death by the villagers. And then where would the country be? Just what Alistair needed was to lose two more nobles. He’d had to fill so many empty seats he’d soon be down to plucking urchins off the streets and promoting them. Of course, that might actually improve things, Judith thought, brightening momentarily. 

She could smell the woodsmoke from the chimneys now, and hear the sounds of people moving around, going about their business. 

“Daniel?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Stay close, will you?”

His hand reached out, closing firmly over hers. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. Then she urged the horse to a trot. Time to get this over with.

Children scattered and people stopped in their tracks, staring, as the two big horses with their well-dressed riders came into the middle of the village. Judith looked around her, feeling almost dizzy. The place was so familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time, as though she’d dreamed it. And she kept looking for faces she recognized, but there were none. How was she to know if her parents were still alive? 

A white-haired man with a full, bushy beard came forward. “Welcome, travelers. I am Gordon, and this is the village of Endermont. What brings you here?”

Judith swallowed, looking down at him. “I … um …”

Swinging down from his horse, Daniel held up a hand to help Judith down. He put an arm close around her, his warmth and support giving her the courage to speak.

“My name is Judith. I … I was born here.”

Somewhere in the crowd that was gathering around them she heard a faint gasp, but when she turned her head, there was no recognition in any of the faces.

“Welcome back, Judith,” Gordon said courteously. He watched her, waiting.

“I was taken from here by the Templars, many years ago. I … came back to see if my … if I have any family left here.” Judith held herself still with an effort, despite how much she wanted to turn and run. Who would have thought something could actually be more frightening than standing on the rooftop in Denerim and thinking she was about to die killing the Archdemon?

“You are a mage.”

“I am.”

You’d have thought she’d just announced she was a darkspawn. People screamed and scattered, women lifting their children and clutching them protectively. Only Gordon stood his ground, looking at her with no change in his expression.

“Why have you come here? Surely you know your kind isn’t welcome here,” he said, almost gently.

“The … King Alistair freed the mages,” Judith said, her voice trembling. “We are no longer under Chantry supervision. If … if the King trusts us, can’t you?”

“We understand King Alistair traveled with a mage during the Blight. How do we know she wasn’t some kind of blood mage, forcing the King to do her bidding?” The voice came from behind Judith, a woman’s voice, shrill and terrified. It set off bells in her mind—she’d heard that voice before. She knew that voice.

“Come back, all of you!” Daniel’s voice rang out. “Do you understand who this is? This is the Hero of Ferelden! She killed the Archdemon. She saved us all from the Blight! Don’t you recognize her name, at least?” His voice was desperate.

“We are rather isolated here in the village,” Gordon said quietly, his eyes still on Judith’s face. Something wistful played on his features for a moment. “We heard little but rumors.”

“And who might you be, anyway?” It was a man’s voice, jeering at Kylon. “His Majesty himself?”

“No. I’m, uh, the Arl of Denerim,” Daniel said. And winced at how awkward it sounded. 

“Right. And I’m the Queen of Antiva!”

“Judith is my wife. She came here to find her parents!”

“I told you this was a mistake,” Judith whispered, fighting tears.

The woman’s voice sounded again. “Too right it was a mistake, murderer!” 

“Come out, then!” Judith turned, shrieking the words into the biting wind. “Come out and face me, if you are who I think you are. It’s the least you can do!”

“The least I can do?!” But the woman came out, glaring at Judith. Her blue eyes snapped at Judith, their vigor belying the grey hair and stooped shoulders—the premature aging of a hard life. “I know you, maleficar,” she hissed. “You left your demon behind when the Templars saved us from you, and it took my baby. Is that what you meant to do? Were you sent here to kill my child?”

Judith heard the voice again, this woman’s voice, ringing in her memory. Keep her away from the baby! “I didn’t do anything of the kind,” she said. “It doesn’t work that way!”

“Don’t tell me! I birthed you from this body and I curse the day. I know what you are.” The woman spat at Judith, who flinched away.

“The—the baby became an abomination?” Judith turned to Gordon, who stood there silently. 

“As if you don’t know,” her mother shrieked. “You did it on purpose!”

“The baby must have been a mage, too, then,” Judith said. “Don’t you see? Magic is in your blood.”

With a mighty shriek, the woman launched herself at Judith, her nails raking down Judith’s cheek, babbling incoherently. Judith’s hands went up automatically to fend off the attack, but she remembered in time where she was, and who it was who was attacking her, and she took a step back. Tears rolled down her cheek, mixing with the blood from the scratches.

Daniel shoved himself between the two women, pushing Judith protectively behind him. “Stop it!” he said to the older woman. “This is not her fault. Don’t you understand?”

Gordon took the woman by the arms, holding her back. “It is best if you leave,” he said quietly to Judith. “Please, don’t come back. There is nothing for you here.” He looked at her sorrowfully.

There seemed little point in arguing. Judith took a last look at the rage-twisted face of her mother, and then sadly turned away. Daniel helped her back onto the horse and climbed onto his own. Slowly they moved back out of the village, the sound of Judith’s mother’s desperate, angry weeping following them as they rode away.


	30. Pieces

_8 Kingsway:_

“First Enchanter, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Alistair said courteously. He and Teagan both bowed to Irving as he moved slowly into the office. The First Enchanter was showing his age; Alistair suspected it wouldn’t be long before Irving stepped down, but who would take his place? What kind of Circle would the mages create now that they were free to choose? Alistair wished Judith was here to consult with on all these questions. He hoped she was enjoying her vacation, at least.

“Irving, Your Majesty. You did save my life,” Irving said, bowing slightly in return. “Chancellor Teagan.”

“Alistair, then, Irving.”

“Of course.” Irving bowed again, and Alistair showed him to a seat. 

“I’m glad you were able to come,” Alistair said, sinking down into his chair as Teagan took the seat next to Irving. “It seems we were a bit … hasty when we set the mages free from Chantry oversight.” Irving looked startled and Teagan groaned, covering his face. Alistair realized he had misspoken. “I’m sorry, not what I meant! I’m still getting used to this official speaking thing.” Irving smiled in relief, sitting back in the chair. “What I meant was that we didn’t give a lot of thought to what the mages might go through in the initial months of freedom, what the Templars would do when they were no longer gainfully employed, and how to get the mages’ phylacteries from the Chantry.”

“Indeed,” Irving said. “I would have expected Judith to have thought of those things.”

“She may have, if she hadn’t immediately been thrown into the mess in Amaranthine. My fault, I’m afraid,” Alistair said ruefully. 

“I heard some of what happened there, but not all,” Irving said. “Is Judith all right?”

“She’s fine. She and Daniel are on a belated honeymoon,” Alistair said.

“Judith on vacation,” Irving said. “Will wonders never cease. Daniel must be quite a man.” 

“He has more patience than any man has a right to,” Alistair said dryly. “At any rate, the reason I called you all the way here, Irving, is that I’m hearing more and more rumors that mages are disappearing.”

Irving’s face tightened. “I have heard those rumors as well.”

“I think somehow we need to make a list, try to ascertain the whereabouts of all the mages we know about.”

“I don’t think the mages would take kindly to such a list—it seems like … oversight. Like the Templars,” Irving said.

“What if we made instead a list of those mages we know have disappeared?” Teagan asked. 

“As a matter of fact, I have such a thing on me. My assistant, Dagna, put it together.” Irving sought in the pockets of his robes and removed a piece of vellum.

“Dagna! I haven’t thought of her in ages,” Alistair said in delight. “She’s this absolutely adorable dwarf we met in Orzammar. Her one dream in life was to study in the Tower,” he explained to Teagan. “You’d have thought Judith was royalty, Dagna was so impressed to be speaking with a real live mage.”

“Yes, Dagna’s research skills are exceptional,” Irving said. “She’s fit into life at the Circle seamlessly. At any rate, Dagna helped me make this list.” He passed it to Alistair, who looked over the names. 

“I’ve met several of these mages,” Alistair observed. “Are we sure they’re missing? I mean, is there any speculation that they might have, I don’t know, left the country? Settled down in quiet anonymity?”

Irving shook his head. “I don’t believe so—“ he began, but was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

“Enter!” Alistair called.

One of the servants opened the door. “Your Majesty, I am sorry to interrupt. There’s a … man waiting who has been very insistent that he must see you immediately. He said it is an emergency.”

Alistair glanced apologetically at Irving. “Can you excuse me for a moment? Perhaps you and Teagan could put your heads together and see how we’re going to ascertain the whereabouts of some of those mages.”

“Gladly,” Teagan said. He rolled his eyes at Alistair, who looked sheepish. There would be another lecture on protocol later, he was sure.

“Of course,” Irving said. He stood up courteously as Alistair left the room.

Alistair followed the servant to the study. He stopped on the threshold in shock when he found Zev waiting there for him. The Antivan looked exhausted, his face drawn and deep pockets under his eyes.

“Zev, are you all right?”

With an effort, Zev managed an imitation of his normal smile. “Y-Your Majesty, I regret being seen in this … condition.”

“Never mind that, Zev! Are you all right?” They’d never gotten along that well, but Zev’s abilities were unquestioned, and Alistair had never seen him in such a state as this.

Zev nodded weakly. “Had a bit of an … unpleasantness, but it is healing now. I must speak to you about Morrigan.”

Alistair looked swiftly over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming along the hallway. He shut the door of the study. “What about her?”

“She is gone.”

“You lost her?”

“She was taken. By Templars.” Zev sank into a chair, clutching his stomach.

“Templars? Are you sure?”

Zev nodded. “Her magic is … impaired. By the child.” His head lolled back against the chair with a weary sigh.

Alistair pushed Morrigan to the back of his mind. That he would have to deal with later. For now, he needed a healer. He put a hand on Zev’s shoulder. “Hang on, Zev.” He was about to send a footman for Thaddeus when he remembered that the First Enchanter was still sitting in his office. Perhaps Irving could look at Zev. 

Suddenly, Alistair put the pieces together. Morrigan taken by Templars. Mages missing all over Ferelden. That couldn’t be a coincidence. He ran from the room, determined to get Irving. The First Enchanter would want to hear whatever Zev had to say.   
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
It had been a cold, silent camp that night. Judith wouldn’t speak to Daniel, would barely look at him. He tried to hold her under the blankets, but she rolled away, staring at the tent wall, ignoring him completely.

This morning was proving to be no different. “Do you need any help with that?” Daniel asked as Judith bent over the fire, blowing gently on the flame.

It flickered and went out as she turned to glare at him. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“You’re blaming me now?!”

Judith stood up, her hands on her hips. “Who else would I blame? I told you I didn’t want to go! I told you no good could come of it—oh, what’s the use?” she sighed, turning away from him. “Let’s just go.”

“No!” Daniel said. “Don’t turn away from me. Talk to me, damn it! I’m your husband!”

Judith threw her hands up in the air. “What does that mean, Daniel? Because so far it’s meant a lot of being pushed into things I didn’t want to do. Is that what being married is all about?” Daniel didn’t answer, and she turned to look at him. “Well, nothing to say?”

“What can I possibly say to that, Judith? As far as I can tell, I’ve done nothing but support your decisions. I’ve asked for very little.” Her icy glare stung him to the core, and he swallowed hard against the hurt.

“Very little?” Judith shrieked. “Did you not see what happened back there? Do you call that ‘very little’?!”

“Because it could have been the best moment of your life! How was I to know what would happen?”

“I told you! I told you what would happen, and you wouldn’t listen. You just kept pushing and pushing until I didn’t have any other choice.” Judith’s chin trembled, and her voice was very small as she said, “Why couldn’t you just have left well enough alone?” She picked up a pack and began to strap it to her horse.

Daniel stood in the middle of the camp, watching her. His chest hurt, but whether he was more upset for her or at her, he couldn’t tell. Then he heard a small, faint sniffle. Her shoulders shook as she stood, holding onto the saddle. Daniel crossed to her in swift strides, his arms sliding around her waist, and he pulled her back against him.

She didn’t resist, but she didn’t welcome the embrace, either. 

“I’m sorry,” Daniel whispered into her hair. He held her close, feeling the fine tremors that went through her as she fought to retain control over herself.

“It’s … I never thought about it,” she whispered. “I never believed I could go back. But you—you wouldn’t let it go, and I thought … I hoped … maybe …” The words were drowned in sobs, and Judith turned in his arms, burying her face in his shoulder.

He held her for a long time as she wept, feeling the sharp stab of guilt that he hadn’t listened to her, that he’d made her hope for something she could never have. But he couldn’t shake the hurt of what she had said to him, and for the first time he wondered why she had married him at all.


	31. Persuasion

The room was silent when Zev had finished talking. Irving shook his head, sighing. “I think I can guess who the leader of the Templars was.” His eyes met Alistair’s. “You remember Cullen?”

Alistair shuddered. When they’d met him in the Tower, Cullen was clinging to the edge of sanity. It wouldn’t have taken much to push him over the precipice. 

“Perhaps it would have been kinder to … No, that would have made us no better than the Templars,” Irving finished. Catching Alistair’s eye, he smiled slightly. “Never mind an old man. It is the privilege of age to have conversations with ourselves. Who else understands as well?”

“If I may interject,” Zev said, shifting back against the pillows and trying not to wince, “it seems to me that the important part is to track down Morrigan. No?” He looked meaningfully at Alistair.

“Is there anywhere Cullen might have gone? Anywhere he might have taken the other mages, if he’s truly behind all those disappearances?” Alistair asked.

Irving looked thoughtful, stroking his beard as he contemplated. “To be truthful, I don’t even remember where Cullen came from. Greagoir might, but he retired to the country somewhere to grow vegetables.” He grimaced. “I never thought of him as the bucolic type.”

Alistair groaned. “We need Judith, but Maker knows where she is right now.”

“Or what she is doing.” Zev grinned. “I do not know who to envy more … Judith or Daniel.”

Irving looked at the elf with raised eyebrows. “Be that as it may,” he said, “we must do something.”

“Perhaps the best place to start is with the Grand Cleric,” Teagan said. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the door. “We need those phylacteries. And we cannot continue to let her defy the King’s orders this way. We can’t have the Chantry getting an inflated sense of its power.”

“I certainly support that idea,” Irving said. “I am not at all comfortable with the Chantry still holding that kind of power over mages.”

“Are we sure the Grand Cleric still has the phylacteries?” Alistair asked. “I wouldn’t put it past her to be refusing to give them to us to cover the fact that she doesn’t have them.”

“That would be … concerning,” Irving agreed.

“Not to harp on the one subject, but how does this assist us in finding Morrigan?” Zev asked. “As she is an apostate, we cannot trace her through the phylacteries.”

“If we assume that she’s been taken to the same location as the other mages, we would find her if we could track them,” Teagan said.

“And if the other mages are … well, are dead?” Alistair looked uncomfortably at Irving. “I think we have to consider the possibility.”

“Then the phylacteries wouldn’t help,” Irving said. “But we need to retrieve them anyway … and thus far, it’s the best lead we have.”

“So we face down the Grand Cleric,” Alistair said. He smiled. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”  
\----- ----- ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
The Templars were silent as always, hidden in their helmets, as they walked Morrigan down the hallway. Her eyes darted everywhere, looking for any opening, any possibility that might spell freedom. 

The prospects were dim, to say the least. The walls were solid, no windows, lit only dimly by torches. And she could hear no sounds from outside—the walls must be very thick to deaden sound that way. Morrigan closed her eyes, wishing she could come up with a way to shapeshift. But the child didn’t know how to change, which meant that as long as the child lay within her belly, Morrigan must remain human.

The Templars stopped in front of a door, rapping on it sharply.

“Come in!” called a high-pitched voice. It was vaguely familiar, and Morrigan racked her brains trying to place it.

The door opened, and Morrigan was shoved roughly into the room. She looked at the man waiting for her, and the memory flooded back.

As did his, apparently. “I remember you! You were with the Ice Princess … er, the Grey Warden. At the Tower. Oh, I’m going to have fun working with you.”

“Carroll,” Morrigan acknowledged coldly. “What variety of work will we be doing?”

“Oh, you won’t be working.” He grinned at her. “Usually, I don’t let the subjects talk—too distracting—but I think it will be fun to hear what you have to say.”

“’Subjects’?” she said sharply. She looked around the room, filled with flasks and alchemical apparatuses. “You are performing experiments.” 

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?” The smile faded from his face. “Over there. Against the wall.”

“Why?” Morrigan’s heart pounded. It was a desperate gamble, but this Templar was lyrium-addled, she could see it in his clouded eyes, and it was her best chance.

“So I can chain you up and take your blood, of course. Why do you think?”

“Perhaps if you explained to me what it is that you are trying to do, I could be of assistance?”

Carroll tilted his head to the side, looking at her. “You don’t seem as hysterical as the others,” he said thoughtfully. “You might be helpful.”

“Of course. I know many things.” Morrigan held her breath, waiting.

Suspiciously, Carroll asked, “Why would you help me? I’m experimenting on your kind.”

“My kind?” Morrigan forced a laugh. “Those docile sheep you call mages are nothing like me. I have a wealth of knowledge and experience that your Chantry has kept locked away from its cattle. And rightly so. Tell me what it is you are researching, and I will aid you.”

“But … if I experiment on you, you won’t be able to help. ‘Cause, you know, you’ll be dead.” Caroll giggled, and Morrigan shivered.

She crossed her arms to cover the goosebumps that had appeared on them, pretending to think. “I have it! You will need another mage.”

“Cullen says we can’t have more than one,” Carroll said. “He says it’s dangerous. Two mages in the bush are worse than one in the hand. Or something like that.” 

“Certainly, Cullen could not have anticipated that you would find a mage who was capable of assisting you. Think what he will say when you tell him, how clever you shall seem.” Morrigan nodded approvingly at Carroll. “I am sure to discover the missing piece to your puzzle.”

Carroll’s brow furrowed, his eyes clearing dangerously, and Morrigan suddenly felt less confident about the situation. “I’ll have to think about that.” He rang for the other Templars, and Morrigan was taken back to her cell, hoping that what she had said would be enough to convince Carroll … and that he would bring in another mage who might be useful.  
\----- ------ ----- ------ ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Judith set a rapid pace down through the mountains. Her facility with the horse had improved, and she wanted nothing more than to get far away from this place, back to Amaranthine where she had a purpose.

Daniel had been remarkably quiet all day. Which was fine with Judith—she couldn’t handle much more optimism and good cheer. The trip overall had been much more weighty than Judith was ready for. She’d defeated a Blight and killed a mad darkspawn who was out to corrupt all of humanity … was marriage really supposed to add more pressure? Her mother-in-law’s beseeching eyes, urging Judith to make Daniel more of a priority; the sight of Fergus Cousland’s deep grief over the loss of his family; Helena Kent desperately trying to move on, left alone with a child because of Jory’s glory-seeking mistakes; and now her own family rejecting her again, as she had always known they would. Underneath it all, an abiding sadness to know she’d had a sibling, someone with whom she could have shared her magic, in a different world, and because of ignorance and fear she had lost any chance of that bond to a demonic possession. There was something wrong with that, wrong with losing a child to a calamity that could have so easily been prevented.

It was almost enough to make her wish for a child of her own, someone she could teach to respect their gifts. She turned in the saddle, thinking of sharing at least that thought with Daniel … but his desire for children was something they had never discussed, and she didn’t think a tossed-off comment from the back of a horse would be the right way to open that conversation. She turned back, wishing she knew how to really talk to him.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
It was time! Rylock could hardly contain herself. She crouched in the bushes, watching for Anders’s approach. She had walked through the upcoming events over and over in her mind, trying to find every small loophole, every thing that could go wrong. Now, at last, she was ready. 

He came down the road just as she had expected, whistling a tune. Rylock’s throat went dry. It was now or never … could she really do this?

Anders came abreast of the shrubbery where she waited, and Rylock shifted, poised to strike. She felt the power move through her hands and the holy smite flew from her, knocking Anders off his feet. He lay dazed, gasping for breath, and Rylock ran to fit him with the anti-magic cuffs she carried. While he was disoriented, she poured water from a drugged flask down his throat. He sputtered and choked, but a fair amount of the liquid made it inside him. Rylock hoped that would be enough to get him back to her warehouse. Her heart was pounding with excitement—she couldn’t wait to get him alone.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------  
The door closed softly behind Cullen. “Are you here?” he whispered. The room was dark, but he could hear her soft breathing over the hum of conversation from the main room of the inn downstairs.

Her soft laugh gave her location away, and he crossed the room as quietly as he could, until his knees bumped against the side of the bed. There was a soft sound of movement, and then her mouth was on his and her arms were around his neck and the sweet, heady scent of her filled his head, more potent than lyrium. He allowed it to sweep him away—here, safe in the arms of the one person he could trust never to use magic against him, he could let his vigilance go.

When it was over, when they lay spent and panting in the dark, her voice broke the silence. Soft in his ear she whispered, “Progress report?”

“Still nothing,” he said sorrowfully. “We have a new subject, though. Maybe we’ll get lucky this time, find the key.” He hated to disappoint her—he knew how important this was.

But she was never impatient with him. Her hands soothed his turmoiled thoughts. “You’re doing your best. Just keep working at it, you’ll get there. And just think how many of those pesky mages you’re taking care of on the way. You’re a hero, Cullen. My hero.”

Her hero. It sounded so good. Cullen moaned under her touch. For her, he would do anything.


	32. Capture

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Anders moaned, wishing the ground would stop shaking. Slowly, the brittle female voice moved through his consciousness. “Wha?” He opened one eye. What he saw was so unexpected that the other eye shot open and he shouted in surprise, his body jerking involuntarily.

Ser Rylock was holding onto his upper arms, her face very close to his, shaking him and calling out his name.

Well, that couldn’t be right. Anders closed his eyes again, shaking his head to clear it. But when he opened them again, she was still there. “R-Rylock?”

“Kathleen,” she said softly. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I thought … maybe I smote you too hard.”

“You smote me?” Anders groaned. “Why?”

“It was the only way to get you alone.”

“Why did you—oh, no, you don’t!” Panicked, he began to struggle, only then realizing that he was tied securely to a chair, with restraints on his wrists that kept him from accessing his magic. “I won’t let you make me Tranquil!”

“Tranquil? I would never do that!”

“You have no power over me,” Anders said. “I’m a Grey Warden. And anyway, Fereldan mages are free!”

“I know,” Rylock whispered. She ran a finger slowly down the front of his robes. “But you have a power over me, and I have come to answer your call.”

“I-I do?” For a moment he was bewildered. Then her meaning sank in. “Oh! I do. Um … does that mean you’ll untie me?”

“Not just yet. I need to be sure you won’t run away.”

“I … wouldn’t dream of it,” Anders said. He gave her a wide-eyed hopeful look. Apparently he’d overdone it, because Rylock stepped back. 

“There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world,” she said, smiling down at him.

“The Grey Wardens will be looking for me.”

“With your penchant for running away?” He could see the old, hard-as-nails Rylock in the eyes of this strange woman, and it occurred to him that she might be right. Especially with Oghren and Judith gone, would anyone actually bother to look for him? Anders took a deep breath. With no one coming to his rescue, and his magic disabled, he’d have to rely on his other Maker-given abilities to get out of this one. He put on one of his most disarming smiles. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink around here?”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
 _10 Kingsway:_

“Now, love, you heard Thaddeus. You aren’t to overdo it,” Alistair said, his eyes dark with concern.

“It’s merely a stroll around the gardens, Alistair. Thaddeus specifically encouraged those,” Anora said. She tried to keep the irritation in her voice to mask how her stomach quivered every time he called her ‘love’. Ridiculous to let his sympathy and attention affect her this way—you’d think she was some kind of wide-eyed schoolgirl. But Cailan had never looked at her that way; as though he cared how she felt, as though her comfort and happiness were more important to him than his own. Her boy-king had always thought first of Cailan. Alistair cared about others first, often to the detriment of his own needs.

“I still think maybe we should sit down,” he said doubtfully.

“I’m sure I’ll know when it’s time to stop, Alistair,” Anora said, putting on a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. It was a terrifying responsibility, knowing she must not lose this child. She was trying to follow Thaddeus’s instructions to the letter—moderate exercise, not too much time in bed—but she had no idea if she actually would know when it was time to stop.

“Do you really know anything about being pregnant?” Alistair asked.

“I’m sure she knows as much as you do, dear boy. Stop hounding her!” The voice was female, crisp and hectoring, and Anora instinctively turned to remind the woman that she was speaking to the King of Ferelden.

But Alistair’s face lit with delight. “Wynne!” he said, rushing over to hug the old woman. “I’m so glad you’re finally here!”

“Gently,” Wynne said, wincing. “These bones have not grown any younger since I saw you last.”

“What took you so long?” Alistair asked. 

“Contrary to popular opinion, mages do not fly about the countryside on broomsticks. We must travel at the same rate as everyone else.” Wynne looked at Anora. “Your Majesty. It’s a pleasure to see you looking so well.”

“Wynne, given that you’re about to spend several months getting to know me rather intimately, we may as well do away with those formalities. Please call me Anora.” Privately, Anora wondered if the elderly mage would last through the pregnancy. She seemed so frail the wind might blow her over.

“Not to worry, my dear,” Wynne said, smiling as though she could read Anora’s thoughts. “I have strength enough for the task ahead.”

“I’m relieved you made it,” Alistair said seriously. “Mages … well, it appears Ferelden isn’t overly safe for mages right now.”

Wynne looked at him sharply. “What makes you say that?”

“There have been … disappearances.”

“What kind—“ Wynne stopped talking as Anora, suddenly overcome with a wave of weariness, sank down onto the stone bench. “But this can all wait. Let’s get Anora back to bed so I can examine her.”

The mage crossed the courtyard. She wrapped an arm, surprisingly strong for all its thinness, around Anora’s waist, and Wynne’s voice murmured into her ear. “I’m certain you’ll come to think of me as an officious old biddy, my dear, but I will see you and the child through safely. I promise you that.”

And Anora believed her.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Another small, filthy, shemlen-filled village. Velanna’s lip curled in disgust, and Loghain hissed at her, “If you look like that, we will get no recruits here.”

She glared at him. As if she cared if they got more recruits. They had five already, was that not enough? “Perhaps I should absent myself, then, if you find my presence so undesirable.”

“Please. Be my guest,” he said, his voice coldly formal. “Just be back in time for supper.”

“As if anything Oghren cooks would be palatable,” Velanna replied.

Loghain groaned. “I’d forgotten it was his night. In that case, what I meant to say was ‘be back with supper’.”

Velanna nodded. “I shall see what I can do.” She’d grown to respect Loghain’s leadership during the time they’d been on this recruiting trip, and their mutual disdain for Oghren and Shianni’s coarseness had bred a certain sympathy between them. It was always both a surprise and a relief to Velanna to see the red-headed couple on the training ground. She often forgot what skilled warriors lay beneath the overt sexuality and ribald humor. It was unfortunate, she thought, strolling toward the village gates, that the dwarf and the elf couldn’t just stay on the training ground.

The restful greens and browns of the temptingly near forest were calling her. Velanna made her way through the crowds of noisy, smelly shemlen toward the gates. Feeling smothered by the din, Velanna didn’t notice that she was being followed. There was a sudden burst of pain in her head as something heavy came down on it, and she had a brief moment’s awareness of the smell of oiled steel and the feeling of being lifted before blackness fully descended on her brain.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ------  
Daniel glanced worriedly at the sky. The clouds were darkening faster than he’d anticipated. He spurred his horse to catch up with Judith. “We have to get to shelter,” he shouted, waving at the sky.

Judith looked up at the oncoming clouds, her face tightening with concern. “You remember that barn we passed?” she asked. “How far back was that?”

“A mile, maybe.” He glanced at the sky again. “We’ll have to hurry.”

The rain had started by the time they reached the barn, which was long disused, by the looks of it. There were several holes in the roof, and the doors were missing, but it was certainly better than nothing. Piles of hay rustled and shifted as mice fled. At least, Judith hoped it was only mice. For several minutes they were busy cleaning out the old stalls and feed boxes, rubbing the horses down and feeding them.

Once the horses were cared for, the sky had opened up, and rain was pouring down. Judith stood by the door, looking out. She was entranced by weather, after so many years just watching it from the windows of the Tower. The wind blew the fresh scent of the rain in her face. She closed her eyes, feeling the droplets spattering her, lost in the sheer joy of being amidst the elements.

“You’ll catch your death of cold,” Daniel said, breaking into her reverie with a blanket. He wrapped it around her shoulders.

Judith looked at him with annoyance. He didn’t understand, not at all.

“Never mind, then,” he muttered, turning away. “Pardon me for giving a damn.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? That I don’t?” Her eyes narrowed.

“If the shoe fits.”

“Is that what you think?”

“What else should I think? You want to see me once a month, sleep with me, and then send me away so you can get on with your life. That’s not a marriage, Judith. That’s hiring a prostitute.”

“But you do it so well,” she said nastily. Part of her felt guilty at the flash of hurt in his brown eyes, but another part wanted to hurt him, so he could feel even a taste of what she had felt in that village. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t bother, then. I’m sure you can find someone closer to home who can serve your needs as well as I can,” he said. “Your pet mage, maybe, or Loghain. The two of you could have duels to see whose heart is the coldest.” 

“Is that jealousy I hear, Daniel?” She moved closer to him. The flare of anger in his eyes and the clenching of his fists answered her question for her. Judith felt a sudden, surprising stab of desire. She licked her lips.

“You forget,” Daniel said, “I’m a nobleman now. All sorts of women would love to warm the bed of the Arl of Denerim. Perhaps I don’t have to look so far from home, either.” He took a step toward her, his eyes darkening with something other than anger, his breath coming faster.

Judith launched herself at him, their mouths mashing together almost painfully. “If I caught you with another woman,” she whispered savagely, her nails ripping at his shirt, “I’d—ah!” She gasped as Daniel’s hand reached between her legs, rubbing.

“What would you do?” he murmured in her ear, biting the lobe. “Something with magic?” 

She peeled the damp ribbons of his shirt off him. “Something like this.” She ran her hands down his naked chest, leaving a ribbon of electricity crackling over his skin.

Daniel cried out, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her against him. She ground herself against his length, and his mouth claimed hers again, his kiss frenzied. She let the electricity play between their tongues, its taste mingling with his.

Suddenly they were on the ground, the smell of the hay rising around them as Daniel ripped off her pants and smallclothes in one violent motion. His hand moved between her legs again. She was so wet his fingers slid in easily, and she writhed in pleasure, her fingers ripping at his pants. “Get them off,” she panted, “before I burn them off.”

And then he was there, sliding inside her. Judith bucked wildly beneath him, nearly out of her mind with the intensity of her need. Then his finger found the swollen nub, moving swiftly over it. She screamed   
his name when the climax hit, clinging to him. 

“Oh, Maker!” Daniel shouted, his hips moving erratically as his orgasm overtook him. He rolled to the side, gathering her in his arms, both of them breathing hard.

After a few minutes, Judith said, “You make a good point. Once a month is definitely not enough.”

He chuckled. “A very productive conversation, then.”

“To think, I was worried we didn’t know how to talk to each other.” Her smile fading, Judith took his face in her hands, looking deeply into his brown eyes. “I do love you, Daniel. I just … don’t know how to be a wife.” 

“I know,” he said. “I really do. I forget sometimes that your life has been as different as it has. I’ll try to be more patient.”

“If you get any more patient, I’ll have to check your pulse,” Judith said dryly. “What you need to do is tell me what you want.”

“Fair enough. Right now, what I want is something to eat.” He kissed her on the forehead, whistling a cheerful tune as he got up. 

Judith lay still for a moment, watching as he toweled himself off with the remnants of his shirt and replaced his pants. The despair she had felt was gone, washed away, and replaced by a hope that just maybe they could learn to be what each other wanted.


	33. Negotiations

_12 Kingsway:_

“I don’t actually care how busy the Grand Cleric is,” Alistair said, his eyes on the squirming clerk. “The King of Ferelden wants to see her. Now.” He felt rather than heard Teagan’s exasperated sigh next to him, but he didn’t blighted care if making demands of the Grand Cleric was impolitic. The woman had held him at bay long enough. He wanted answers.

“Y-Your Majesty,” the clerk began, “I’m afraid Her Grace’s calendar …”

“Is none of my concern,” Alistair finished for him. “Now, you can go and get her, or I can barge into her office.”

“I … I’ll go see if she’s available.” The clerk all but fled the room.

“Alistair,” Teagan hissed. Standing behind the Chancellor, Irving waited patiently, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He, at least, wasn’t likely to complain about Alistair doing a little Cleric-baiting.

“Save it, Teagan,” Alistair said. “I know what you’re about to say, and I agree. Most of the time. But if the Grand Cleric thinks she can still treat me like the abandoned orphan she used to send to bed without supper … well, I intend to teach her otherwise.”

Teagan started to say something else, then sighed again. “You make a good point.”

“I do?” Alistair looked at his Chancellor in some surprise. “Good for me.”

The clerk scuttled back. “The Grand Cleric says she can make room in her calendar if you can come back tomorrow.”

“That is not acceptable,” Alistair said. “I am the King of Ferelden.”

“And … um … she’s the Grand Cleric!” The clerk seemed proud of his own temerity.

“So much for diplomacy,” Alistair said to Teagan, who groaned and buried his face in his hands. Alistair walked past the clerk, who gasped in horror and began to run alongside the King, trying to keep up with Alistair’s long strides, protesting incoherently. “You had your chance,” Alsitair said, pushing open the door to the Grand Cleric’s office.

“You never did have any manners,” she said tartly, not rising.

“Your Majesty,” Alistair said.

“I beg your pardon?” The Grand Cleric’s eyebrows rose.

“You will refer to me as ‘Your Majesty,’” Alistair said. “I’ve come about the location of the mages’ phylacteries.”

“What makes you think I have them … Your Majesty?” The pause made the title into more of an insult than an honorific.

“Who else would have them?” Irving said reproachfully from the doorway, having followed Alistair down the hall. “They were in your care. You would not have given them up.”

“Gentlemen, let us posit that perhaps I do know the location of the phylacteries,” the Grand Cleric said crisply. “What would be the benefit to me, or to the Chantry, of revealing their location?”

“What do you want?” Teagan said smoothly, cutting off whatever Alistair was about to say. “You clearly already have something in mind.”

“I appreciate a clever Chancellor,” the Grand Cleric said. “Loghain was entirely too blunt a weapon. It was no challenge to fence with him.”

“A fine parry,” Teagan said, “but hardly a riposte. More to the point, why must it be a fencing match? You have something we want, we surely have something you want. A simple trade sounds as though it could be beneficial to both parties.” His debonair smile shone over the Grand Cleric.

“Perhaps what I want is to foil what you want.”

“If so, you would not have opened the discussion by challenging us to provide a benefit.” 

“Touche.” The Grand Cleric regarded Teagan with interest. “Very well, then. I want a cathedral.”

“A cathedral?!” Alistair stared at her in shock. “You must be aware that Ferelden’s coffers are stretched thin as it is. Rebuilding what was destroyed will take years, if not decades. We can’t even think about building something new until after …” His voice trailed off as the Grand Cleric continued to hold his gaze steadily, none of his arguments causing the slightest alteration in her expression. “You want a cathedral,” he said at last, defeated.

“In Denerim.” The Grand Cleric smiled triumphantly. He had always hated that look.

“What you want, and what the nation of Ferelden can afford to provide, are two different things, especially in this case,” Teagan said. Irving made a protesting noise and Teagan held up a hand to forestall the mage’s objections. “However, should the Chantry feel moved to … donate to the welfare of Ferelden’s citizens, their gratitude could move us to begin building a cathedral to the glory of Andraste. After all, wouldn’t it be nice for everyone if ours was nicer than, say, Val Royeaux’s?” He smiled at the Grand Cleric.

“I see we understand each other. But surely you don’t expect the Chantry to pay for such a thing?”

“No, no—charitable donations to the poor and needy. The kind of thing I am certain the Chantry would have done anyway.” Teagan’s eyes glinted with humor. “Thereby assisting Ferelden as it begins to rebuild its economy, hastening the time when such a luxury as a cathedral would be … supported by the populace.”

“Indeed.” The Grand Cleric’s eyes warmed as she looked at Teagan, and Alistair fidgeted. This was the kind of negotiation that left him completely at sea.

“So, we’re all good, then?” he asked.

“We are, indeed, ‘all good’,” the Grand Cleric confirmed, sneering slightly at the phrasing.

“What assurances do you require of our intentions before you reveal the locations of the phylacteries?” Teagan asked.

“The King’s signature will be sufficient.” She turned the smile on Alistair, who squirmed much as he used to when she scolded him for his unseemly behavior as a Chantry orphan. “We can meet tomorrow to discuss a location and finalize the agreement, and at that time I will produce the phylacteries.”

“Along with any other information you have regarding the whereabouts of Ferelden’s mages and Templars,” Irving put in. “I will know if you hold anything back. Or if you attempt to retain samples of the phylacteries.” His eyes met those of the Grand Cleric.

“Why of course, First Enchanter,” she said, and her eyes twinkled.   
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
“No sign of ‘er,” Oghren said, looking uncharacteristically grim. “Looked everywhere I could think of.”

“Maybe she went back to the forest,” Shianni suggested. “Got tired of being a Grey Warden?”

“Not with broody boy waitin’ for ‘er back at the keep. All hot and bothered over him, she was,” Oghren said, shaking his head.

“Where could she have gone?” Loghain frowned. He wished they had a tracker available—Velanna had been the only one in the group who had any abilities in that area. He had a hard time believing the elf had simply left, not without speaking to the Commander. It was far more likely that some kind of harm had befallen her, but who in Ferelden would lay violent hands on a Grey Warden so soon after the end of the Blight? “Recruits!” he shouted. The young green Wardens-to-be gathered around him. “First assignment … we find the missing Grey Warden.”

“How?” asked Archie, a tall, dark-haired boy whose proficiency with a bow had been most impressive.

“Grey Wardens can sense each other’s presence,” Loghain explained. “You’ll understand why once you are one.” He surveyed the group before him. “We’ll split into groups, each with one Grey Warden at the head, and search methodically for any sign of her.”

He stood at the village gate, looking out at the forest, and his heart sank. Even with the Grey Wardens’ senses, could they really track one elf amidst all of Ferelden?  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Velanna stirred, groaning. She felt cold stone beneath her, as well as all around her, and reached out with her mind to feel the forest. It was out there, but far away, and her powers were inaccessible somehow—she couldn’t get a good focus on the earth.

“You awaken at last,” said a sharp voice from the darkness. 

Questions flooded Velanna’s brain, but she said nothing, waiting to see if the voice’s owner would reveal herself.

“Who are you? Your power seems less tame than what I would expect to feel from a Circle mage,” the voice said. Velanna heard the movement of metal against stone. It sounded as though the voice’s owner was chained.

She cleared her throat. “You have the advantage of me. Reveal yourself first,” she said.

“I am Morrigan. Your comrade in this unfortunate situation.”

“Velanna. Where are we?”

“Held prisoner by the Templars. Are you from the Circle in Ferelden?”

Velanna would have sneered, had she not been lying on the floor of a dungeon. “I am no Circle mage,” she said, her voice sounding weary even to her own ears. “I am Dalish, and now a Grey Warden.”

“A Grey Warden?” The other woman’s voice was eager. “I had not thought Carroll to be such a fool. All the better, then.”

“Better?” Velanna echoed in disbelief. “Better for whom?”

“For me, of course. I … am in need of protection.” The admission came slowly. “This is not a situation that I had anticipated.”

“That sounds like an understatement.” Velanna shifted, testing her bonds. She wished she could see this other woman—it would be easier to trust if she could see what manner of person was speaking to her.

“It is. I should, however, have extrapolated such a happening. It was to be expected that the foolish boy on the throne would offer the Grey Warden a boon, and that the boon she asked for would be the freeing of the mages. She is perhaps a stubborn fool, but a devoted and determined one,” Morrigan added grudgingly.

“You know the Commander?” Velanna asked in surprise.

“Somehow, it does not surprise me that my name is not familiar to you,” Morrigan said. “I traveled with them. During the Blight.”

“Are you the witch?” 

“I am.”

“Oghren speaks of you occasionally. In what I am sure he believes are flattering terms.”

“I can imagine,” Morrigan said. “Oghren is with you? As a Grey Warden? I suppose that is as good an end for him as any.”

“While all this catching up is fascinating,” Velanna said tartly, “it hardly secures our escape. How are we to get out of here?”

“With guile. How are you at pretending to be in distress?”

Velanna’s heart sank. If this plan depended on her acting helpless, they were doomed from the start.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Cullen rolled over in bed. “I should go,” he said reluctantly, pressing a kiss to the top of his love’s head.

“That seems wise,” she agreed, a bit too quickly for his liking. But she turned with that sunny smile, and Cullen’s heart melted. “Not that I won’t miss you, of course. But the sooner the project is completed, the sooner we can really be together.”

“Why can’t we be together now?” He stroked her back, watching her arch against his touch.

“You know why,” she said breathlessly. “Because if Irving finds out what we’re looking for, we’ll never know the secrets contained in the mages’ blood. It’s unfortunate,” she said fretfully, “that you couldn’t get more than one phylactery at a time. How much easier it would be if we could keep tabs on all the mages, so we could just pluck one up whenever we needed one. But I suppose that’s what the Tower is for.” She giggled, and Cullen shifted closer, groaning. He loved her laugh, enough that it didn’t matter that he wasn’t sure just what she wanted the secrets of the mages’ blood for. He pulled her against him, reveling in the softness of her body.

“Kiss me,” he whispered. “One more time before I go.”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
“Anders,” Rylock cooed. “I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

Well, he could hardly blame her for that, Anders thought, flexing his wrists against the restraints. He was in damned good shape, especially compared to those skinny milksops in the Tower. “Kathleen,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “Could I have some water?”

“Oh, of course,” she said, turning immediately for the glass, which she held to his lips. She took the glass away, but not before his tongue darted out and slowly licked a droplet of water off the hand that held the glass. Rylock’s eyes darkened, and she breathed a small sigh. She dropped the glass on the floor, where it shattered, and then Anders found himself with a lapful of very aroused Templar. “Anders,” she whispered again as she straddled him. 

Anders closed his eyes as Rylock’s mouth met his. He’d been with less attractive women, for less important reasons, he reminded himself. And then he did what he always did when he found himself in the clinches with … insufficient interest. He closed his eyes and saw her face, warm and amused, the cloud of dark red hair wild around it, her green eyes holding his as she moved. Anders moaned, feeling himself harden, and he thrust up with his hips against Rylock, but in his mind it was no longer the Templar on his lap—it was Melanie. Whispering sweet tales of freedom in his ear, promising all sorts of happiness when they were out of the Tower.

“No other mage ever made me feel this way,” Rylock muttered, ripping at her top until her breasts were bared to him. They were nice, Anders had to admit, and he did what he was expected to do—open his mouth to them, allowing his lips to tease the hardened nipple until Rylock whimpered. “Anders, please!” and pulled his head closer. “They asked me to take mage after mage,” Rylock babbled, throwing back her head and grinding herself against his hardness. “But all I could think of was you.”

“Nice of you,” he whispered. It was harder to hold on to the image of Melanie while he was talking to the Templar, but he was curious now. “Who asked you to take the mages?” He brushed his lips lightly against the sensitive nipple, his tongue circling it. “Tell me.”

“I—I can’t,” Rylock said, squirming harder on his lap.

“Of course you can.” Anders closed his teeth lightly on the nipple, feeling Rylock shudder. “You want to, don’t you? Just like I … wanted this.” The lie was a bit much, even for him, but Rylock’s lust-clouded gaze indicated she’d bought it.

“Oh, yes,” Rylock sighed. “Yes.”

“Tell me who,” he said, drawing the edge of his stubbled jaw against her soft breast. With only his mouth to work with, and that all but immobile, this would be harder, but he’d never been one to shrink from a challenge. He thrust with his hips again, grinding as much as his restraints would allow.

“C-Cullen,” she gasped. “Oh, Anders, yes! It’s Cullen.”

Of course it was, Anders thought. That one had never had his head screwed on quite right to begin with—and after what Judith had told him about the Tower after Uldred’s little coup, it wasn’t surprising that Cullen should be doing something nefarious. But what?

“Tell me more,” he whispered, stretching his neck so he could nibble Rylock’s collarbone. “Tell me everything.”


	34. Stratagems

Anders looked down at the sleeping woman in the bed with a faint twinge of guilt. Winning her trust hadn’t been overly difficult, not once he really got going. And getting her to remove the magic restraints had been trivial— _oh, Anders, don’t stop! I’m so close_ had a tendency to be a good moment to ask for things. 

Once free, the sleep spell had been an easy one to accomplish. She’d wake up satisfied, but with a slight headache. Although he should probably kill her. Or at least restrain her somehow. She was a Templar, after all. One who had managed to take him prisoner, most effectively. But somehow he didn’t have the heart to harm her—the damaged woman in the bed was a far cry from the overbearing, obsessed mage-hater he remembered. He could no sooner have killed her than he could have killed a wounded animal.

He stood for a long moment, filled with indecision. But there was no time to waste. What she had told him about the Templars capturing and killing mages was basically his worst nightmare: mages’ freedom flipped on its head and turned into their doom. He had to get back to the Vigil, talk to Riordan, do something.

Ah. That was it, the answer to the conundrum of Rylock. Swiftly, he trussed her up, tying her securely to the bed. Once he reached the Vigil, he’d have her retrieved and Riordan could deal with her. Rylock had always had the fighting spirit of a wolverine—maybe Riordan would want to make her a Grey Warden. It wasn’t the nicest thing to do to someone, but neither was capturing them to sate your insane fantasies. Although if they did conscript her, Anders devoutly hoped they’d send her somewhere far away from Amaranthine.

He turned from the room, hastening his steps back to the keep.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Loghain clenched his fist, black anger held at bay, but only just. What had he been thinking, letting her go off on her own? He’d let Velanna down, faltered in the task assigned to him, failed to be the leader that was needed. Again. Would he never be done letting down people who put their trust in him? He remembered the look Cauthrien had given him at Ostagar—shocked and disappointed and frightened—and imagined the same look on Velanna’s face. “Where is she?” he demanded of the vastness of Thedas.

None of the searchers had found any trace of her. The Grey Wardens hadn’t sensed her tainted blood. Whoever had taken her, she was out of their reach, and Loghain felt sick to his stomach.

“Ser?”

The tiny voice came from somewhere near his legs, startling him out of the fury that was driving him. He looked around, finding a small scrap of humanity huddled between some crates. “Yes?” he asked, somewhat testily. Too much so, for the child began to whimper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, attempting to make his voice into something comforting. He remembered little of Anora’s childhood—hadn’t spent much of it around her—and had never developed a facility for speaking with small things. Perhaps if he spoke as if to a mabari? “Good child,” he said soothingly. “Would you like a biscuit?”

Bright eyes under a mop of black hair looked up, glittering greedily. Loghain fumbled in his pack, finding a crumbled piece of biscuit and handing it over. The child devoured it, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “Be you lookin’ for the elf lady, ser?”

“Which elf lady?” he demanded, and the boy flinched. Mabari, he reminded himself. “It’s all right, boy, you can tell me.”

“The one with the yellow hair? In the green … clothes.”

It was as good a word as any to describe the bits of fabric Velanna called robes. “Yes, that’s right! I’m looking for the elf lady with the yellow hair. Have you seen her?”

“The men took ‘er. I saw it.”

“Did they? Which way did they go?”

Solemnly, the boy pointed toward the gate. “Toward the forest, ser. She was … sleepin’?” It was clear the boy knew it wasn’t the right word, and he looked up at Loghain to see if he understood. Loghain nodded grimly. “Bet they took ‘er to the ruins,” the boy said.

“Ruins?”

“We lads used to play there, ser, before—before …”

“Before the darkspawn came?”

Tears welled in the bright eyes as the boy nodded. 

“Come with me, boy. We’ll get you a proper meal, and you can show me on a map where to find these ruins.” The child hesitated, and Loghain snapped his fingers. “Come, boy!”

He wasn’t entirely surprised when it worked, and idly he wondered how many other types of people would respond to being treated like a mabari. He itched for a rolled broadsheet—how he would enjoy smacking Oghren on the nose with it.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----   
“There are fewer of them than I would have expected,” Irving said, sorting through the phylacteries.

“It would not surprise me if the missing ones belong to the missing mages,” Zev said.

Irving nodded sadly. “You are probably right.” 

“Wait, you think the Grand Cleric has something to do with that?” Alistair asked in surprise.

“You do not? Think about it,” Zev said. “Give the Templars one phylactery at a time for their purpose. You control which mages they pursue, and you require that the Templars continue to come to you, thereby keeping a close eye on their doings.”

“Creepy,” Alistair said.

“But not surprising.” Irving plucked a phylactery from the crate, looking at the cramped, faded writing that spelled out the mage’s name. “Wynne’s,” he said in surprise.

“Give me that. Please,” Alistair said. He all but snatched it from Irving’s hand, and he threw it down on the ground, stomping his foot on it. The others stared at him, and his jaw clenched. “No one will ever be able to use that … thing against her.”

Irving put his hand on the young king’s shoulder. “I would have done the same.”

“Although it is too bad we don’t have one of these for Morrigan,” Alistair said. 

“But we do have one for our lovely Commander, do we not? Can we find that one?”

The three of them pawed through the crate of glass vials, until finally Alistair held one up in triumph. “Got it!”

Irving took it from him, looking at the dark liquid inside for a moment. “Let us not break this one right away.”

“Why not?” Alistair asked. Had it been anyone other than Irving, he’d have taken the phylactery back and shattered it immediately.

“We need to find Judith. She and Daniel could be anywhere. And … she could be in danger.” Irving’s eyes hardened. “This nation—this world—has an obligation to protect her from whatever these Templar fiends are doing.” 

“You’re not seriously suggesting we use this to track her?” Alistair’s eyes widened in outrage.

“Do you have a better idea?” Zev asked. “The First Enchanter makes an excellent point. Also, then we can give our lovely Warden the vial and allow her the great pleasure of smashing it herself, no?”

“Good idea,” Irving said.

“I … suppose,” Alistair said reluctantly. He reached for the phylactery. “I’ll take it.”

“You?” 

“Who else do we know with the proper training that we can trust?” 

“Train me,” Zev said.

“I can’t!” Alistair looked at the assassin with exasperation. “You don’t have the right skills.”

“Actually,” Irving put in, “it’s a fairly basic skill. I can teach him. And you, Your Majesty, can’t be spared right now. Not with your lovely queen in the family way.”

Alistair looked from one set, determined face to the other. Then he sighed, his shoulders sagging, and handed the phylactery to Zev. “Very well. Just … find her fast, will you?”

“You may depend upon it.”

“Very good.” Irving nodded at both the young men. They returned to their task. Irving dug around the bottom of the crate, lifting several vials and squinting at them before making a noise of triumph. He handed the phylactery to Alistair. “My young friend, will you do the honors? This one is mine.”

“Gladly.” Alistair put the vial on top of the mess made by Wynne’s and brought his foot down on it.

Irving smiled at the satisfying crunch of the glass. “Your foot is younger—I did not want to miss.” He stared at the remnants of glass for a moment, as if transfixed. “My entire life, a slave to the liquid in that vial. And now I am free. I can never thank you enough,” he said to Alistair.

“No thanks required. Or, if you must, thank Judith. I don’t know that I would have had the strength to do this if it hadn’t been for her.”

Irving put all the rest of the vials back in the crate, closing the lid. “I will bring these back to the Circle when I go. I want to give them to each mage personally, so that they may have the satisfaction of seeing them broken. In addition, it will give me the chance to count them and get a sense of how many we have lost.” His face settled into grooves of sorrow as he looked at the crate. “I can only wish I knew how many phylacteries were given to the Templars.”

Alistair laid his hand on the First Enchanter’s shoulder. “If there’s a way to find out, we will. Their names will not be forgotten.”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
Daniel reined his horse in next to Judith’s. “Unless you’re in a tremendous hurry to get back, would you mind taking a quick detour to Redcliffe? I’d like to pay a call on Eamon, get his thoughts on some things I have in mind for Denerim.”

“Sounds reasonable. Maybe we could stop at the Tower on the way back? I ought to check in with Irving, as long as I’m in the vicinity.”

Daniel reached out and brushed a wisp of blonde hair back off her face. “I’d like that. I’ve never been to the Tower—maybe seeing where you came from would help me understand you better.”

Judith winced a little. They’d both seen where she came from, that miserable little village in the mountains, and she certainly didn’t understand herself any better. It occurred to her that she’d known more of safety and comfort in the Tower than she would ever have known if she hadn’t been a mage. As a pet pupil, and a relatively well-behaved one, at that, she’d never had particular cause to complain about her treatment there. She clenched her hand, feeling the power there, and thanked the Maker for making her a mage.

“What are you thinking about?” Daniel asked softly, watching her eyes cloud and clear with the thoughts that had taken her far from the crossroads.

“How grateful I am to be a mage,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “I wish I could show you what it’s like, Daniel, just once let you feel what it is to have magic at your fingertips.”

“You do,” he said simply.

Judith’s eyes softened, and her hand came up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him in for a long, lingering kiss, both of them having forgotten for the moment that they were on horseback. At last they pulled apart, Daniel viewing the flush on Judith’s cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes with both pleasure and pride. 

“Let’s go to Redcliffe, then,” she said. 

“Lead on, my lady.”

The slanting golden rays of sunset were shining across the road as they rode along the lakeside, passing the Tower docks. Another rider came toward them, a man wearing a dashing blue cloak that fluttered behind him. As they neared each other, the rider looked up. His eyes met Judith’s, their gazes locking together for a long moment before he put spurs to his horse and turned it off the road, guiding it down a narrow path Judith hadn’t noticed.

Daniel drew up beside her as she sat, staring after the rider. “Who was that?”

“I could swear it was Cullen. He was a Templar from the Tower,” she explained when Daniel frowned questioningly. “He … had a rather traumatic experience when Uldred took over; Cullen was pretty broken after it. I would have thought he’d be resting. Or something.” 

“Should we pursue him, then?”

“No, I can’t think of any reason we should need to. But remind me when we get to the Tower, I’ll ask about him.”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
The door opened into the dungeon, the metal boots of the Templars scraping on the stones. Their absolute silence chilled Velanna—her experience with humans had so far led her to believe the ones who could keep their mouths shut were the ones to be feared. It was one of the reasons she respected Loghain and Nathaniel.

Each Templar took one of the women by the arm, dragging them from the room and down the hall. Velanna looked around, hoping for any sign of a way to escape. She saw with some excitement that roots protruded from the floor here and there. Wherever these ruins were, the forest was in the process of taking it back. If she could get her magic back, she could tear these walls apart and bury these foul Templars so deep it would take generations to find them. The thought was so satisfying she smiled without thinking, and one of the Templars cuffed her across the face. 

The Templars stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. It opened silently, the hinges obviously recently oiled. A blond Templar stood there, rubbing his hands together. He met Velanna’s eyes squarely and smiled at her, and she felt her skin crawl with revulsion. Something was dreadfully off about this one. 

“I hear you’re a feisty one,” he said to Velanna. Then, in a surprisingly childlike voice, he said to Morrigan, “Is this one good enough? She was the first one they found.”

“She will do,” Morrigan said grandly.

The helmeted Templars secured the two mages to the walls, making sure the anti-magic bracers were still in place. What Velanna wouldn’t have given for one of Nathaniel’s lockpicks. Or for Nathaniel himself, his strong arms closed around her. She shook her head against that weakness. She was on her own here, unless this Morrigan could be trusted, and could not afford to wait for rescue like some simpering girl in a shemlen fairy tale.

“What shall we do first?” It wasn’t clear if the Templar was speaking to himself or to the two mages. “I know! I need your blood samples.”

“Blood samples? Is this some manner of blood magic?” Velanna asked sharply. 

“Oh, no, of course not!” He looked shocked.

“Carroll is studying mages,” Morrigan said. “He believes that the secret to being a mage lies in the blood.”

“He does?” Velanna snorted in derision. “I have news for you, little Templar. If it was in the blood, these,” she held up the anti-magic shackles, “would not be effective.”

Carroll’s jaw dropped comically. “I … never thought of that. Neither did our leader.”

“Typical.” Velanna rolled her eyes. “Just like a shem. No ability to think.” Morrigan cleared her throat and Velanna looked at her apologetically. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“Indeed.”

“But … if I don’t take your blood … what do I do with you?” Carroll looked from one woman to the other, bewildered.

“I don’t suppose you would consider letting us go?” Velanna asked.

He blinked, and his eyes sharpened, as if a cloud had lifted. Stepping forward, he lifted Morrigan’s arms, studying the bracers, and the skin under them, carefully. He seemed like an entirely different person. 

“Lyrium addiction,” Morrigan said to Velanna over Carroll’s head. He seemed completely absorbed in his study of the bracers’ effects. “The Chantry feeds it to the Templars to keep them on a leash—they are no more free than the sheep they herd. Eventually their brains give out. I understand once Carroll was quite the promising student.”

Velanna almost felt sorry for the man. Almost.

“Do you mind if I take these?” Carroll asked, looking up at Morrigan.

“The bracers?”

“The hands.” He said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that it took a moment for Velanna to realize what he meant.

“Yes, of course, I mind!” Morrigan yanked her hands back out of Carroll’s grasp, and the Templar’s gauntleted hand immediately closed around her throat. Morrigan stared into his eyes, panic-stricken.

“You should take the bracers, you fool!” Velanna snapped.

“Why?”

“How do you think they work?” Speaking patiently, as if to a small child, Velanna said, “The bracers leech the magic out of us. So where does it go?”

“Even if that’s true, how does that help me?”

Carroll’s hand had eased off of Morrigan’s throat, and the witch whispered, “If enough magic collects in the bracers, it could transfer by skin contact to whomever it touches. Especially if they already are trained in the use of magic.”

“Anyone who uses magic is a mage,” Carroll said suspiciously. “And mages don’t need magic transferred to them.” 

“We’re not talking about mages,” Velanna said impatiently. Morrigan’s eyes cut quickly in the elf’s direction, and Velanna got the message, changing tack. “Has it never occurred to you that a Templar’s abilities are similar to magic?”

Carroll glared at her. “Hardly. We do the Maker’s work.”

“Yes, and you take lyrium to do it with,” Morrigan said.

“We need the lyrium to be able to … counteract the … oh!” Carroll said. His eyes widened as the import of what they were saying hit him. “So if I put on the bracers …?”

“It stands to reason, if the bracers were imbued with enough magic, there would be a way to move that magic into you.”

“Into me?!” He looked startled. “But … would I be—I don’t want to be a mage!”

“It would be temporary. The effects would fade when you took off the bracers,” Morrigan assured him. 

The panic receded from Carroll’s face, leaving a mix of confusion and excitement. “But … it never worked like that in the Tower,” he said. “They never told us …”

“Do we look like Tower mages?” Velanna said tartly. “I am Dalish. Morrigan is of the Wilds. Our magic is different—we are in touch with nature.”

“Huh.” Both mages watched the Templar’s thoughts chase each other across his face. “How?” he asked at last, and Velanna let her breath out slowly. Maybe Morrigan’s plan would work.

“You will need to compile a great deal of lyrium,” Morrigan said. “Can you get it?”

“Y-yes,” Carroll said. His voice faltered, probably because that much lyrium would cut into the Templars’ supply. But the lure of the promised magic was strong, and Carroll’s eyes glittered feverishly. “I’ll have it in two days.”


	35. Convergence

The horse was a plodder, its feet moving sluggishly. Zev shifted restlessly in the saddle, missing the far finer horseflesh bred in Antiva. He’d ridden a chestnut mare once—magnificent creature, as great-hearted as any human he’d ever met. Should he ever return to Antiva, he’d find a way to make Alistair a present of a breeding pair of Antivans. He raised himself in the saddle, the soreness in his inner thighs reminding him how long it had been since he’d sat a horse for any significant length of time.

Based on the hasty training Irving had given him in the use of a phylactery for tracking purposes, Zev thought Judith was somewhere in the vicinity of Redcliffe, which meant some long days of traveling if he intended to catch her quickly. He leaned over the horse’s neck to shout in its ear, trying to get it to move faster.

He was passing the fork where the Pilgrim’s Path branched off to the north, toward Amaranthine. Zev thought of Riordan at the end of that path, of the dark humor and even more wicked hands of the man he’d come to think of as his lover, and he made a promise to himself that he would seek out the Grey Warden as soon as this business with the missing mages was concluded.

A drumming sound, accompanied by a pleasing baritone singing an extremely dirty song, reached his ears, and quickly he drew the horse off the road into the trees. Two horses were approaching at a fast trot, and he heard male voices talking as the horses drew nearer.

“’Second verse, same as the first,’” warbled the baritone happily, and a reedier, higher voice joined in on the verse. Zevran’s watchful eyes brightened with a glint of humor, and he added his own smooth tenor to the chorus.

They went several rounds of the song, the two men on horseback looking into the trees in an attempt to discover the third singer’s identity. At last, the reedy voice stumbled over the part about the “luscious lady’s dainty bits twisted ‘tween the sheets”, and the song came to a halt.

“Come out, fellow lover of fine music,” cried the baritone, and he chuckled when Zevran made his appearance. “I thought it was you.”

“Anders, my friend,” Zev said. “And Finbar, is it not? Alas, we need Oghren to round us out with his sonorous bass.”

“Oh, no, Oghren’s rubbish at that song,” Anders protested. “He insists on saying ‘nug’ instead of ‘mabari’ there in the middle, and completely ruins the cadence.”

“Never mind how disturbing it is to think of a nug that way,” Finbar agreed.

“But you do not mind considering a mabari in such a way?” Zev raised an eyebrow. “Fereldans.”

“Where are you off to, Zev?” 

“I am searching for your commander. You would not happen to know where she is at the moment, would you?”

“Can’t say that I do. Honeymoon, you know.” Anders looked at him with sudden eagerness. “Do you have time for a side trip? We could really use your help.”

“Time is of the essence. Why? What is it you would ask of me?”

Anders dismounted, handing the reins to Finbar. He came close to Zev. “I have information about a plot—former Templars kidnapping mages.”

“What information have you?” Zev asked sharply.

“You know about it?” Anders stared at him in surprise.

“I do. I was there when they captured—a mage of my acquaintance. I must know what information you have.”

“I know where they are. One of the Templars … we had a history,” Anders said uncomfortably. “She—I managed to gain the information from her. We have to hurry. They’re testing mages’ blood, trying to decipher what makes us mages.”

“And you are going there accompanied by only one other?”

“The order is too understaffed right now for a larger force, especially with Loghain and the others on a recruiting mission and the Commander away. A messenger has been sent to the King, asking for reinforcements to meet us. Besides, they can’t use me. Grey Wardens’ tainted blood—somehow they know about that. Er, you know about that, right?” Anders looked suddenly uncomfortable, but Zev nodded briskly.

“That is most welcome news. The First Enchanter was concerned for the Commander.”

“Irving? He knows, too?”

“He has had suspicions.”

“Come with us, Zev. With you along, we have an even better chance of doing something about these Templars.”

Zev considered that for a moment. If Anders was correct, Judith was in no danger. Even if Anders was wrong, it was more efficient to go with them and assist in taking out the Templars than to continue on the quest, not knowing how long it would take him to reach her.

“Very well. Lead on, my friend.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Generous though Arl Eamon and Arlessa Isolde had been with their hospitality, Redcliffe Castle was never going to be a place Judith enjoyed spending time in. She still jumped at every sound, expecting a walking skeleton to be coming toward her. Nor could she forget having thrust her dagger into the stomach of Jowan, her best friend, within these walls. She managed to hold it together while Daniel and Eamon spoke about some of Daniel’s plans, enjoying the sight of her husband holding his own with this older, nobly born man. Daniel’s youth and energy and his passion for his people and the responsibility he had to them was a marked contrast to Eamon’s obvious weariness.

Judith sat back, allowing Daniel to run the conversation, offering her opinion as Arlessa of Amaranthine only when it was asked for.

At last the discussion concluded. Eamon stood, bowing courteously to Judith. “I regret that I have meetings with some of my freeholders this afternoon that keep me from your company. I will see you both at dinner. Is there anything I can offer for your entertainment in the meantime?”

“Thank you, Eamon, but I don’t believe that will be necessary. I’d like to show Daniel around the village, actually. I hope that will not trouble anyone?” 

“Of course.” Eamon bowed again, and Judith and Daniel left the room.

“He seemed awfully stiff when he spoke to you,” Daniel said quietly. He slid an arm around her waist as they walked through the main doors and out into the courtyard. 

“I believe he blames me for what happened—Teagan being named to the plummy Denerim-based role at the side of the King, and Eamon all but exiled here in Redcliffe. With his wife.” Judith couldn’t stifle a smile. After the debacle with Connor and the way Alistair had been treated, she had a hard time feeling charitable toward the Guerrins of Redcliffe.

“Did you have something to do with it?”

“Actually, no. Alistair decided on his own. With some encouragement from Anora, I believe.” Judith shrugged. “Teagan’s the better choice. Younger, more dynamic, less condescending. He advises Alistair but lets him think for himself—Eamon would just have told him what to do.”

Judith was pleased to see Redcliffe village bustling, people moving busily about their daily activities. She showed Daniel around, pointing out where they had stood during the siege. She wondered what had happened to the elf who had helped that night, or the mercenary dwarf, Dwyn. Mayor Murdock was still stomping around shouting at the villagers, and she could hear the clanging of Owen the blacksmith hard at work.

“Let’s go to the inn,” she said, “have some ale.” She paused for a moment. “Maybe we could take a room for the night?”

Daniel looked concerned. “What would the Arl think?”

“You know, I’m not sure I care. I just don’t think I can sleep there. Too many bad memories.”

“Of course we can, if you like.” This stopover in Redcliffe was the closest to normal life they’d come in their short courtship and marriage—Daniel would have done pretty much anything she wanted. 

Inside the somewhat crowded inn, Judith pushed her way to the bar, smiling at the big blond bartender. He grunted at her, either not recognizing her or not pleased to see her. “Have any rooms available?”

“Maybe.”

“What’ll it take to make that a ‘yes’?”

“Gotta ask the boss.”

“I thought that was you, Lloyd.” Judith looked puzzled.

“Nah. Got bought out. Glad to be shut of the place, anyway. Damn freeloaders, always wanting to drink for nothing.” He glared at the other patrons.

“Go ask the boss, then, please.”

Lloyd grunted again, and withdrew to the back room. A few minutes later he returned. “She wants to see you,” he said, jerking his head toward the door behind him. “Just you,” he added to Judith as Daniel began to follow her. 

Judith and Daniel looked at each other and shrugged, and Judith went into the back room. She recognized the woman sitting behind the desk with a cry of delight. “Bella!”

The red-headed ex-waitress stood up, smiling. “Warden!”

“Bella, what are you still doing here? I thought you were going to go … somewhere else. Somewhere better.” 

“Where would that be? One town’s just like another.” Bella looked away uncomfortably. “This one’s good enough.”

“As long as you’re happy.” Judith was doubtful—Bella didn’t look entirely happy.

“This is better than the alternatives, let’s put it that way. I hear you got married.”

“Yes. He’s just outside, would you like to meet him?”

“Oh, no. No, thank you. Is he—a good man? He treats you well? Doesn’t mind that you’re a mage? Some do … I hear.”

Confused, Judith nodded. “Yes, he’s a very good man, and no, my being a mage doesn’t bother him at all.”

Bella nodded. “Glad to hear it.” Then, in a sharper, more businesslike tone, “Nice to see you, Warden. Have a room on the house, with my compliments.” When Judith would have protested, Bella held up a hand. “I insist. Consider that you paid for it already when you gave me that money.”

“Thank you, Bella. Good luck.”

“And to you.” Bella looked down at the papers on her desk, sending a clear signal that their interview was over. 

The other woman’s strange behavior seemed odd to Judith, but she didn’t puzzle over it for long. Lloyd pointed them to a room and Daniel went up the hill to fetch their few belongings and make their excuses to the Arl and Arlessa. Judith was deep in a hot bath when he returned.

“Well, this sight is well worth the effort.” He grinned, dropping their bags at the door.

“Did Eamon give you any trouble?”

“None. In fact, he seemed a little relieved.”

“Thank you for doing that, Daniel. I really didn’t want to go back there. I can’t forget all those bodies. And that poor little boy, Connor. Torn between the magic inside him trying to come out and the mother he loved telling him to hold it in. With no one but Jowan to teach him proper control, is it any wonder Connor was easy prey for the first demon who found him?”

“I thought Jowan was your friend.”

“He was. But control was never Jowan’s strong suit. Which is why he was slated to be made Tranquil in the first place—he just never made smart decisions.” Judith bit her lip. Despite everything that had happened, she still missed her friend and wished there had been a way to save him from himself.

“So you think the Circle is the right place for a child with magical power?”

Judith sighed, sinking deeper into the water. “It isn’t quite that simple. Some people thrive there. Others, like Anders, spend their lives chafing against the structure. It ruins people like Jowan, who grow up afraid to trust themselves.” She looked Daniel in the eye. “I know you’re not happy that we can’t have children together, and I understand that, but as a mage, I’m not sure I would want to take the chance of giving birth to a mage child and having to make that decision—to doom my child to the life of an apostate, or to have to send him or her to the Circle and essentially lose them forever. I know it’s going to be different now that Alistair has freed us of the Chantry’s oversight, but will it be different enough? It will take generations for Fereldans to get past this ingrained fear of mages, and of course the rest of Thedas still hates and fears us as much as always.”

Daniel nodded. “I suppose the chances of us having a mage child would have been fairly high, given you and my sister. I just … I wanted the whole dream, you know? Marriage, children; a family.”

“Will it be enough that our family is just the two of us?” 

“I won’t lie to you, it will be hard for me,” Daniel said. He knelt next to the tub, taking her hand. “But I love you, Judith. I’d rather be childless with you than the father of ten children with someone else.”

“That sounds dreadful, anyway.” She grinned at him.

Daniel smiled back. “It does sound a bit overwhelming.” The smile faded, and he looked intently into her eyes. “But Judith, it has to start being the two of us. This whole me in Denerim, you in Amaranthine, too busy to spend time together thing has got to stop.”

“You’re right. I … I’m sorry it’s been so hard.”

She looked so miserable that Daniel considered letting her off the hook. But so much of the change had to come from her. “That’s not going to be enough,” he said gently. “You know that.”

Judith nodded. 

“It’s a good start,” Daniel said. “We can talk about it more … later.” 

“Later, definitely,” Judith agreed as his mouth met hers and his hands disappeared beneath the water. The problems between them wouldn’t go away by magic, but she was glad that they were learning how to talk to each other.


	36. Power

The group of them crashed through the forest like so many brontos. Loghain winced at the noise, but there was little he could do about it. Neither he nor Oghren was exactly built for stealth—they made enough noise for the whole party. The path to the ruins was clear enough, worn deep by countless boys tramping through the forest to explore. The lad Loghain had met in the village had pointed the way. He’d considered bringing the boy along, but not knowing what they were walking into hadn’t wanted to put the child in danger. 

As they came into a small clearing, Shianni stopped moving, looking around anxiously. “Grenny, you feel that?”

“May I brown my britches if I don’t,” he said. “Sodding elf’s around here somewhere.”

Loghain concentrated, and thought he could feel a faint buzz just under his skin. “Can we follow that?” He hated asking Oghren for advice on … anything, really, but the dwarf had been a Warden for longer than Loghain had, and he’d spent the Blight with two of them. He ought to know.

“Gets stronger as you get closer. But ‘cause there’s three of us, if we spread out too much we’ll just be followin’ each other instead o’ focusin’ on witchy woman down there.”

“Might as well stay together, then,” Loghain said. He’d have preferred to spread out and cover more ground, but what Oghren had said made sense. No point in the three Wardens stumbling around the forest trying to find each other; and none of them knew enough woodcraft to hunt the missing elf in more traditional ways. 

The buzzing under Loghain’s skin grew stronger as they moved closer. The ruins were in view now; not Tevinter, as he had assumed they would be, but even older. Elvish. 

Suddenly an arrow sped through the air, the rustling of leaves in its wake the only notice of its passage. It embedded itself firmly in the thigh of one of the recruits, who stumbled and fell with a cry of pain. Loghain felt a strange measure of relief now that battle was joined. This, at least, he understood. This he knew how to do.

“Shianni.” Her name suited itself well to communicating in whispers. Loghain jerked his head in the direction from which the arrows had come. Shianni nodded, moving swiftly into the surrounding forest. The wounded recruit had dragged himself under a tree and was wrapping a field bandage around his leg, Loghain noted with approval. It was always good to have a clear head under pressure. Even at a cursory glance, Loghain could tell the arrow had missed the artery. The recruit was out of this particular battle, but he would live. At least until his Joining.

With quick motions, he indicated the directions the other recruits were to go in. More arrows were flying through the air now, and Loghain shouted to everyone to get down. Oghren, blade lifted above his head, was charging forward, an unearthly howl coming from his mouth as arrows bounced off his armor. There was no question, dwarven craftmanship wasn’t to be beaten.

There were men emerging from the forest now, meeting Oghren’s onrush with their blades. With a flash of surprise, Loghain recognized bits and pieces of Templar armor. Were they scavengers, wearing things they had picked up here and there, or were they actual Templars? 

“Attack!” Loghain shouted, drawing his own sword, and he moved forward confidently. “Try to take one alive, if you can!” He was going to need some answers.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
When the Templars returned for them, Velanna hoped there had been enough time for Carroll to have found a proper amount of lyrium. Being locked away in this dungeon, far from the sun, able to feel nature around her but not to access it, was taking a toll on her. It wasn’t helping Morrigan, either. The other woman’s eyes had become more feral, and she watched Velanna with an expression the elf didn’t entirely like. 

As she moved down the hallway with her arm in the Templar’s ungentle grip, Velanna went over the plan in her head again. She wished she didn’t have to rely so much on Morrigan, but the other woman had steadfastly refused to consume the amount of lyrium required, so that left Velanna with the choice of either taking it herself, or coming up with a better plan. 

Carroll was waiting for them in the laboratory. His eyes were wide and his hands were shaking, although Velanna couldn’t have told whether that was fear or lyrium. He waved the other Templars out of the room, his eyes fixed on Morrigan’s.

One of the Templars paused at the door, his helmet turned toward Carroll. 

“What are you looking at?” Carroll’s voice cracked on the last word. “I’m in charge, you know I’m in charge!”

Velanna wouldn’t have left the room had she been the Templar—Carroll certainly didn’t sound like someone who ought to be in charge. But the metal-covered shoulders shrugged and the Templar left, closing the door.

“Now,” Carroll whispered, his eyes gleaming, “where were we?”

“Do you have the lyrium?” Morrigan’s imperious tone was gone, replaced by an eagerness that disturbed Velanna almost as much as Carroll’s.

His eyes cut to the door and back. “Yes. It wasn’t easy—they’re suspicious, you know. Templars take their lyrium very seriously.” He giggled.

“Get control of yourself,” Morrigan snapped.

Velanna saw a flash in Carroll’s eyes, a sudden clarity. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Sorry about that.”

Morrigan shook her head. He wasn’t the most reliable tool, certainly, but he was all they had.

“Let’s have it, then,” Velanna said. “This process may take a while.”

Carroll looked at her, chewing on his lower lip. “Are you sure about this?”

“If we do not try this, what will we try? Bleeding mages dry has not worked for you.” Morrigan took a deep breath. “What can go wrong? I am here to help you, Velanna is willing to attempt this experiment. Think how grateful your leader will be when you solve this question. You may be rewarded.”

“You think?” The understanding in his eyes gave way to a glazed-over look. Velanna almost pitied the man. It seemed clear that once he had been unusually intelligent for a shem, and because of their Chantry he was doomed to this half-life, trying to make use of a brain that simply did not work right any longer.

Carroll crossed the room, picking up a crate that clinked. He carried it back to where the women were chained, lifting a shimmering blue bottle reverently. He held it to Velanna’s lips, his eyes watching hungrily as she drank.

Velanna could already feel the effects as the lyrium moved through her system. She flexed her fingers, feeling the power surge there. It was incredibly frustrating to be able to feel all that power but not have the ability to access it. “Another.”

And that was how it went, for longer than Velanna could keep track of. The lyrium, tingling and powerful, poured down her throat and working its way through her body, over and over again. She giggled drunkenly at nothing, her head lolling loosely on her shoulders, and through all of it she reached vainly for the power that thrummed through her veins, so tantalizingly out of reach. At some point she was dimly aware of begging Carroll to take the bracers off, to let her touch the power just once.

At last, she hung in the chains, able to see and hear nothing beyond the song of the lyrium flooding her.

“Now,” Morrigan said to Carroll. “You can see that the lyrium has leached the magic from her sytem. Remove the bracers, put them on yourself, and you will be able to access all her power.”

Velanna felt the brush of Carroll’s fingers against her arms. Suddenly the pressure was lifted, the power no longer heavy and dull within her veins but sharp and strong. She raised her hands, staring at them as though she’d never seen them before. In the time she had been down here—days? weeks?—she’d almost forgotten what this felt like. She reached out with her mind, touching the forces of nature that lurked beneath and around and above these walls, and she heard herself laughing.

“What’s wrong with her? Why can’t I feel anything? Are you sure this is working? I can’t feel it working,” Carroll said.

“Just wait,” Morrigan cooed. “Velanna.” 

The other mage’s sharp voice cut into the exultation Velanna felt. There was something she was supposed to do. Someone needed her help. Morrigan? She needed to—use her power. That was it. Use her power to—tear down the walls! Yes! The exposed tree root she had noticed before leaped to life, cracks forming in the wall above it.

“Hey!” shouted Carroll, turning to glare at the root.

“Unfasten me, you fool,” Morrigan snapped.

Velanna looked at her in confusion for a moment. Then ice shot from her fingers, freezing the manacles that held Morrigan to the wall, followed by an arcane blast that landed sloppily next to the frozen chain—just barely close enough to snap it. Morrigan yanked her upper body free just as Carroll whirled on both of them.

“You tricked me,” he said, almost sorrowfully. “I knew Cullen was right. Can’t trust them, he said.”

“Velanna!” Morrigan shouted. Carroll was reaching for the other mage, a wicked dagger gleaming sharply in his hand. Where had that come from? Velanna wondered, struggling against the tiredness that was seeping into her very bones.

She spoke words she herself could barely understand in this state, and the tree root from the wall grew, snaking along the floor to grasp Carroll’s ankle, yanking him backward. 

There was a lot of noise suddenly. Yelling and crashing and thumping, and Velanna just wanted to go to sleep.

“Unbelievable.” 

Morrigan’s annoyance cut through the sleepy fog surrounding Velanna, and she struggled toward awareness, but it was too difficult. The lyrium was a lullaby in her head, and Velanna hummed along with it.

Truthfully, Morrigan wasn’t certain which of them she was most angry with—Velanna for completely losing her head to the lyrium, or herself for not predicting it. She did have to admit, the elf had taken care of Carroll rather neatly, even in her lyrium-addled state. The Templar was tied to the wall by a tree root, struggling incoherently. But the Templars outside were pounding at the door. Morrigan herself had only just managed to remove the bracers and throw up a barrier around the door. Holding the barrier steady was taking most of her energy, and she didn’t dare have any of the remaining lyrium, fearing its effect on the child. 

This was not exactly how the plan had been supposed to go, she thought angrily amidst the din of Carroll’s cries, the Templars banging at the door, and Velanna humming drunkenly. Not how it was supposed to go at all.


	37. Addled

As he surveyed the carnage left from the battle, Loghain was as pleased as he’d been with anything since before Ostagar. At least. The recruits had fought well; Oghren and Shianni, for all their distasteful personal habits, were deft and enthusiastic fighters; and with the amount of fighting he’d done this year, skills he’d thought long atrophied were coming back to him. Perhaps this Grey Wardening wasn’t such a bad idea, he mused. Certainly he’d prefer to spend his time fighting darkspawn than trying to eke a living out of the blight-touched land of his farmhold.

He checked on the recruit with the leg wound. The boy was holding his own, the leg neatly bandaged. Oghren loomed over Loghain’s shoulder. “Huh,” said the dwarf. “Spent so much time travelin’ with a mage, almost forgot how to tie one o’ those. Good thing to mention to the Commander later—never know when yer mage is gonna go and get herself kidnapped.” Loghain looked up at the dwarf in surprise. It was the most sensible thing he’d heard Oghren utter yet. Then Oghren belched loudly and shouted, “Bronto, ya see where I put that mug? Battle has me dry as the very Stone.”

Loghain shook his head with a sigh. It took all kinds, he supposed. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the injured recruit and went to inspect the bodies of the men they had fought. He had hoped to keep one alive, but the recruits had been a tad overzealous. The bodies were laid out neatly, prepared for a pyre later. Their armor was a hodge-podge, no two pieces seeming to match … but much of it was Templar issue. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder what exactly had happened to the Templars of Ferelden when his simp of a son-in-law had removed the mages from Chantry oversight. 

“Hey, nug-humper!”

Loghain turned to look at the dwarf. “I hope you aren’t expecting me to answer to that … appellation.”

“Worked, didn’t it? ‘Sides, it was good enough for the sodding King o’ Ferelden.” Oghren smirked up at Loghain, as if daring him to make any of the cascade of comments that remark was asking for. 

“What do you want?” Oral sparring with the dwarf was an activity best left to Shianni, who could do more with her mouth than talk.

“Feel ‘er down there? Elf’s still alive. Ought to see if we can get in there.”

“Right.” He did feel it, now that Oghren brought it to his attention. Raising his voice, Loghain called the recruits in. “We’re going to find an entrance into these ruins. Be prepared for … anything. And for the Maker’s sake, if you run into Velanna, remind her who you are before she chokes you with a tree!”

Several of the recruits looked uncomfortable at this, but Loghain thought if they were going to be Grey Wardens, they should know that their fellow Wardens could be as dangerous as anything they were likely to go up against. Leading the way inside the vine-covered ruin, he wondered if he was to blame for the Commander’s tendency to pick up homicidal maniacs as companions—after all, he was the one who had sent the Crow after her in the first place. 

They slashed their way through the vegetation creeping across the floors of the ruin, trying to make as little noise as possible. As they moved, Loghain felt a growing sense of apprehension—Velanna should have been able to use all this growth to tear apart the ruins and anything, or anyone, inside them. If she couldn’t … well, the taint proved she was alive, but in what condition? He wasn’t particularly fond of the elf, but she had been under his protection. Anyone who had harmed her had committed a personal affront on Loghain Mac Tir, and he would make them pay.

He stopped stockstill, shaking his head and snorting at himself. The Commander and her blood-lusty lunatics must be contagious.

As he stood there, he heard a sound coming from beneath his feet, a pounding. Gauntleted fists against metal, if he had to guess.

“Oghren!”

“Nug-humper?”

“Please stop calling me that.” He glowered, but the dwarf grinned unabashedly. “Can you use that Stone sense of yours to get down there? It must be a tunnel of some kind, but damned if I can see an entrance.” 

Oghren looked around thoughtfully. “It’s not dwarven construction,” he said. “Sodding elves. Sorry, bronto baby.”

The elf leered at him. “You can make it up to me later.”

“You bet your sweet ass,” Oghren crooned.

Loghain wanted to vomit. But Shianni was walking around the edges of the ruin, studying the walls. “Often there’s a way to hide the stairs, or at least, there is in all the legends the elders tell.” She ran her hand along the moss-covered walls, small fingers feeling for a pattern. Loghain paced impatiently. He could still hear the pounding beneath his feet, and the rising tension made him want to start ripping stones out of the floor. At last Shianni gave an excited cry. She’d come to an area of the walls where the moss and ivy were sparse, remnants of the vegetation crumbled on the ground. She stood back, studying the runic writing there, and then confidently pressed three places on the wall in rapid succession. With a grinding sound, the stone began to move, revealing a set of stairs that wound deep into the ground.

So much for a stealthy entrance, Loghain thought, wincing at the tremendous noise the wall made. When it subsided, he noticed the pounding had stopped, as well. Might as well go in full force, then. “Oghren, you’re first.”

“Aye.” The dwarf brandished his weapon, beginning the descent into the earth. Loghain hoped he was sober enough to make it down in one piece. He followed the dwarf, motioning the recruits to get in line behind him, with two remaining at ground level to make sure no one caught the rest by surprise.

He heard Oghren’s battle cry before he reached the first turn of the stairs, and quickened his pace. Two armored men with Templar bucket helmets were engaging the dwarf, and heavily outmatched. Oghren ducked a sword thrust that was aimed too high to have done the dwarf any real damage anyway, hacked his blade into the body of one of his opponents, and with a scream that halted both Loghain and the Templar in their tracks, yanked the blade out of the first body and sliced it into the neck of the second Templar. Both men were dead by the time the recruits made it down the stairs. 

Another pair of Templars came from the other end of the hall, their weapons already raised. Loghain nodded to two of the recruits—Jonah, a young fighter from Rainesfere, and Margilde, a nondescript little woman who seemed defenseless until she had daggers in her hands. Jonah set himself to block the hallway, keeping both Templars occupied with sword and shield, and Margilde ducked unnoticed behind them, her daggers finding the chinks in their armor. All in all, surprisingly easy, Loghain thought. But then, he assumed the Templars had drained the mages’ power before they took them, and few mages were trained to fight without magic. Another thing to mention to the Commander.

“She’s in there,” Oghren said to Loghain, jerking his head toward a door set into the wall. “Yo, elf girl!” the dwarf shouted. “Rescue’s here!”

Loghain tried the door. “Velanna!”

Shianni caught Loghain’s arm. “Sh!” she said. Her more sensitive elven hearing had picked up on something from within the room. Within a few moments, everyone in the corridor had silenced. Even Loghain could now dimly hear someone inside the room … singing? 

“I know that song!” Oghren brayed. “’I’m Calenhad the Great, I am’,” he joined in, before Shianni smacked him on the arm.

Loghain pounded his fist on the door. “Velanna! Open this door!”

Then a voice, not Velanna’s, spoke, sharp and cold. “Oghren?”

“By the Stone, it’s the titty witch!”

‘Titty witch’? Loghain was fairly certain he didn’t want to know. 

There was a scraping sound, and the door opened a crack. Loghain could see a strange golden eye, more animal than human, peering through the door. “Do not try anything,” the woman warned. 

“We want the Grey Warden Velanna,” Loghain informed the woman. “We will not leave without her.”

The door opened the rest of the way. A beautiful young woman stood there, staring coldly at Loghain, her amazing eyes holding his. Then her gaze shifted past him, looking down at the dwarf. “Oghren,” she said. “Not who I would have expected to meet here.”

“Same here,” the dwarf said.

“Morrigan,” Shianni piped up. “What are you doing here?”

Morrigan? This was the famed Witch of the Wilds who had traveled with the Commander during the Blight? Loghain looked her over with renewed interest. He supposed he remembered seeing her during the battle of Denerim, but he didn’t think he’d ever been this close to her. She met his eyes squarely, a hint of amusement in the back of hers, an acknowledgement of his primal male reaction to her scantily covered body. 

A woman’s voice lilted that dreadful song over their heads, and Loghain looked past Morrigan farther into the room. Velanna was curled up against the wall, singing to herself and occasionally stopping to laugh in a very disturbing way. Not that Loghain could imagine a way Velanna could laugh that wouldn’t be disturbing, come to think of it.

“What’s wrong with her?” Oghren asked.

“Lyrium,” Morrigan said briefly. “She will recover once it has left her system.”

“You never said why you’re here,” Shianni said. 

“You are … Soris’s cousin, yes?” Morrigan frowned at the elf. “I should think it would be obvious—I was captured, and brought here against my will.”

“By these men?” Loghain thought it was high time he took charge of the situation. 

Morrigan glanced at the dead bodies with contempt. “These, or others like them.”

“What did they want?”

She raised a slender dark eyebrow. “What do men always want? Power. In this case, this man,” she inclined her head into the room, toward a miserable-looking blond man held to the wall by tree roots, “was attempting to determine what makes a mage a mage. An interesting question.”

“And what does?”

“He was not able to find the answer. Apparently whoever is in charge of this operation believes it is in the blood. Other mages they took were bled until there was no more blood to experiment upon. Circle sheep, no doubt.” Morrigan’s lip curled in disdain. “Pitiful.”

“How did you escape?”

“Need you ask?” The golden eyes met his again, hard and haughty. “I am more than a match for any Templar, much less one whose brains have turned to mush through years of lyrium abuse.” She glanced at Velanna, who was being helped to her feet by Shianni. “She was useful, as well. Dalish mages tend to be less cowed than the products of the Circle Tower, although still limited by tradition.” Morrigan swayed slightly, her eyes fluttering closed, and Loghain was at her side in an instant, holding her elbow firmly. He noticed how pale she was, wondering how long she’d been held captive. He noticed, as well, the hand that strayed to her stomach as she swayed, and how she snatched the hand away when she regained her balance. “Thank you,” she said coolly to Loghain.

His eyebrow quirked upward as she tore her elbow out of his grasp and moved steadily out of the room toward the stairs. At a nod from Loghain, Oghren followed her. Loghain stood, watching, as she moved through the doorway, speculation rampant in his mind … not all of it related to whose child she might be carrying. 

As Morrigan disappeared out of sight, he turned to deal with Velanna. 

“Loghain,” the elf said, “how nice to see you!” She was bobbing up and down as if to music only she could hear, and she began humming again. She staggered and would have fallen if Shianni hadn’t been holding her arm. 

“So this is what being lyrium addled looks like,” he said to Shianni. “She’ll be mortified when it wears off. I think she actually smiled.”

Shianni grinned. “Don’t think we’re going to let her live it down, either.”

Loghain turned to deal with the Templar stuck to the wall. “Anything to say?”

“You—You shouldn’t interfere!” The young man’s eyes were wide. “This is important work. Cul—Our leader says so!”

“Which part?” Loghain snapped. “Murdering mages, or stuffing them full of lyrium for your personal pleasure?”

The blank look passed from the boy’s face. “They did that themselves! They tricked me, the witches.”

“Imagine that,” Loghain said drily. “Who is your leader?”

“I can’t tell you that! Please, he’ll kill me.”

“The way you wanted to kill those mages?” Loghain loomed over the young ex-Templar. “How many? How many mages have you caught and killed?”

“I don’t know.” The boy squirmed uncomfortably. “I lost count. I have … blackouts.” He began to whimper and cry.

Of course. Lyrium addiction. Loghain shook his head at the sheer waste of it, and began to think better of young Alistair’s decision to grant freedom to the mages. If this was what happened to the Templars who were supposed to watch over the mages and protect them, from themselves and from others, the mages seemed better off without them.

“Chop him down, then tie him up,” Loghain snapped at a recruit, turning away from the boy. He would have to get his answers later.


	38. Unexpected

With some difficulty, they made their way through the forest back toward the village. Velanna leaned heavily on Shianni, breaking out occasionally into snatches of song. Those episodes grew less frequent as they moved through the forest. Loghain surmised that the lyrium was receding more rapidly from Velanna’s system now that she was surrounded by nature. 

Oghren and one of the burlier recruits, a farmlad named Shank, were dragging Carroll along. The former Templar was babbling, pleading to be released from the shackles they’d bound him with, and spilling everything he knew about the operation in the ruins. Which, sadly, wasn’t much. Mostly he kept repeating the words ‘Cullen’, ‘mages’, and ‘blood’. 

The wounded recruit, Bruce, limped along between Jonah and Archie. Meanwhile, Loghain brought up the rear, walking with Morrigan. The mage was silent as they walked and he found himself moved to comment on it.

“It’s rare to find a woman who doesn’t need to chatter all the time. Even my daughter is known to run on when given the right conversational opening.”

Morrigan glanced at him, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “Clearly you have not traveled with Alistair, or your comments would be of a different gender.”

Loghain grimaced. “Please, must we speak of him? It’s more than enough to know my future grandchild will share his blood.”

“Really? I had not heard such an event was to take place. How fortunate.” Morrigan glanced tellingly at her midsection, biting her lip, and Loghain caught his breath, suspicion flooding his brain. Was it possible? He’d understood from Anora that the Orlesian bard was the whelp’s only previous dalliance. Of course, the bastard wouldn’t be the first man to lie to a woman—he wasn’t even the first to lie to Anora. Damn these Theirin men! Must Anora be shackled to yet another philanderer?

Next time he saw his son-in-law, they were going to have a talk.

Shortly before they reached the village, there was a commotion in the forest behind them, and Loghain could feel the warm prickling of his skin that signaled other Grey Wardens. He motioned to Archie and Margilde to flank Morrigan and signaled Jonah and Shianni to move with him toward the sounds, which were unmistakably those of battle. As they approached the battle site, he could see men in that cobbled-together Templar armor, and he cursed himself for thinking the men they found inside the ruin were all there was. He wondered where this set had been all this time.

The young red-headed Warden, Finbar, was grappling with two of the ex-Templars, and an elf with long blond hair was dancing around a third. A fourth was viciously attacking the blond mage, Anders, who so far was blocking the blows with his staff. The mage was breathing heavily—he’d probably been smited, Loghain judged. He was holding his own pretty well, considering, but he looked as though he was about to give way under the rain of blows. 

“Go help him,” he said to Shianni and Jonah. They sprinted across the clearing, joining the battle, and Loghain engaged one of the men fighting young Finbar.

The arrival of Loghain and the others tipped the battle, and soon the Templars were down. 

Loghain crossed to Anders, who was bending over with his hands on his knees. “Bloody Templar. Smited me. Be all right … in a minute.” Groaning, Anders stood up. “Did you get him?”

“Get who?”

“That bastard Cullen. Worst of the lot. Insane, I heard, after what happened with Uldred.” Anders spoke in clipped sentences, still trying to get his breath back. “I saw him. He disappeared too fast, other blighters showed up.”

“No, we didn’t see anyone.” Loghain scanned the trees. It was getting late in the day—the chances of finding anyone in this forest before nightfall were slim. “Should we go after him?”

Anders shook his head. “It’s probably too late. More important to get to the mages being held.”

“They’re safe.” At Anders’s startled look, Loghain nodded. “Come with me—we rescued two mages and captured one of the Templars.”

“So much for the rescue mission.” Anders grinned. “Glad you got here first. How did you, by the way?”

Leading the way back toward the others, Loghain explained about Velanna. Finbar fell in behind them, as did the blond elf, whom Loghain recognized with some surprise as the Antivan Crow he had once hired to kill the Commander. He’d known that the man was her companion and ally, but had never been in such close quarters with him. 

The rest of the group was waiting anxiously, and the battle-ready stances relaxed in relief as Loghain and the others came into view. 

Oghren roared with delight when he recognized the newcomers. “Sparklefingers! And if it ain’t Baby Nugface, Junior.”

“Ser Oghren!” Finbar protested. “I’ve asked you to not to call me that!”

“As long as you continue to call him ‘Ser’, I think the name suits you,” Anders said.

“Aw, I missed ya, Sparky,” Oghren said. He caught sight of the figure behind Anders and guffawed so loud birds left the surrounding trees in startled flight. “If it ain’t Swishy! Where’d you pick him up?”

“He was looking for me,” Morrigan said with haughty dignity. “Zevran. I am pleased you survive.”

“Thanks to you, dear lady.”

Loghain looked between the witch and the assassin with interest. Zevran, ever the observant one, bowed low before him. “I happened to be … passing by when the lady was abducted by the Templars. Most fortunately for me, as she managed to heal a wound I received. Here I was, hastening back to rescue her, but alas, it seems I am too late to be the hero. I will have to leave it to you, my Teyrn, to play that part.”

It was not the whole story, but who ever expected the whole story from an Antivan Crow, ex or not? “Just Warden,” he corrected. “No longer Teyrn.”

“Indeed.” There was humor at the back of the Antivan’s eyes, and Loghain recognized that he had been tested.

Meanwhile, Anders had approached the prisoner. “Well, if it isn’t Carroll. You have no idea how much I enjoy seeing you in shackles, for a change.”

The Templar looked at Anders with dull eyes.

“Not so full of comebacks now, are you?” Anders said gleefully.

“It would be you,” Carroll said. “She wanted you, you know. Rylock.”

“I do know. Guess why I’m here.” Anders grinned maliciously at Carroll. “I can be very … persuasive. She told me everything you’ve been doing to mages here.” His face twisted. “And I’ve been dreaming of doing this the whole way here.” He raised his hand, a ball of fire spinning on his fingers, and Carroll shrank back, his eyes widening in terror. 

“Anders, no!” Finbar shouted.

The flames disappeared as Anders balled his fist, and with all the force of his powerful muscles behind it, smashed the fist into Carroll’s face. The Templar’s head snapped back, blood trickling from his lip. 

Carroll sagged between his two captors, his jaw at an odd angle. Loghain sighed. He sympathized with Anders, but they’d never get answers out of the Templar if he couldn’t talk. “Heal him,” he said.

“If I must.” The mage sighed dramatically, but healed the broken jaw willingly enough. His face brightened. “Does that mean I can hit him a few dozen more times? I’d really like to.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Carroll sneered. “No magic?”

“I’m a human being, Carroll,” Anders said, “not a magic machine. And so were all the mages you murdered! Keili had the sweetest singing voice I ever heard, and Godwin could have been a fine mathematician if he’d been allowed to study anything other than magic. All you people have ever been able to see was the magic, and you killed all our other gifts as surely as you killed my friends.” His voice broke and he turned away, his shoulders shaking.

Oghren detached himself from the group, putting a hand on Anders’s arm. “Come on, Sparklefingers. There’s some bodies back there—you can shoot ‘em with all the lightning you want before you burn ‘em.”

Anders allowed himself to be led away, and the group in the clearing stood silent for a long moment. Of course, Ferelden demanded of her people what they had that was most useful, and for most mages that was their magic. For warriors, it was their skill with a blade. Loghain might have wanted to become a cartographer, had there been the chance, but the rebellion happened, and now he was a soldier, his youthful dreams given for Ferelden. He felt for the mages, but they were hardly alone in having talents turned aside in favor of more needed skills.

The assassin, Zevran, appeared at Loghain’s elbow. “Felicitous though this meeting was, my lord, I request that I may take Anders and Finbar and continue on. I was to seek out the Commander and acquaint her with recent events, as well as assuring her safety.”

“No objection here.”

Zevran bowed deeply and disappeared in the direction Anders and Oghren had gone, the lad Finbar trailing behind him.

Loghain led his group the rest of the way to the village, convincing the mayor to find a few extra rooms in people’s houses to hold them all. By the time he had everyone squared away, and had looked in on Velanna, who was slowly coming down from her lyrium high, he was more than happy to settle down with a mug of passable ale and a bowl of better-than-average pork stew. He found himself sitting next to Morrigan, who was wolfing down stew as ravenously as if she were a Grey Warden. 

“How long were you there?” he asked her.

“I have no way of knowing,” she said. “What day is it?”

Startled, he realized he didn’t precisely know. “Uh … mid-Kingsway, I think.”

“Over two weeks, then. Perhaps three.”

“A long time.”

“Perhaps. It would depend on how you looked at it.”

“Do you always speak in riddles?”

Morrigan laughed, a surprisingly relaxed and musical sound. “An unfortunate tendency I inherited from my mother.”

“Your mother?”

She looked at him sideways, those marvelous eyes glittering. “Flemeth. I assume you have heard of her?”

Loghain nearly spat his mouthful of ale across the table. That crazy woman in the Wilds had seemed too old thirty years ago to have given birth to a child, and this young woman could not have been more than five-and-twenty. Magic at work, then. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Oddly, his distaste for Flemeth didn’t make her daughter any less attractive. “And your lover?” he asked. “Is he not searching for you as we speak?”

That musical laugh rang out again. “Lover? I have no such thing. For now.” The golden eyes raked him up and down with unmistakable interest. The look was calculated rather than heated, but still, it made Loghain’s breeches feel too small. 

”Are there particular, ah, criteria that you would look for in such a person?” he asked stiffly. He told himself he was fishing for Anora’s sake, to confirm (or, less likely, refute) his suspicions about the parentage of Morrigan’s probable child, but the question came out with more personal interest attached.

The corner of her lovely mouth turned up. “Are you applying for the position?” She made the last word sound positively erotic, and Loghain shifted in his increasingly uncomfortable breeches.

_Sod it_ , he thought. It had been a lifetime of restraining his own desires for the sake of Ferelden. There was no stricture against Grey Wardens carousing, that much had been amply proven by Oghren and Shianni. He was tired of taking one for the team—it was time to take one for Loghain. He was aware that this was foolish and ill-considered. After all, the girl had been a prisoner of the Templars for some time. Also, he had good reason to think she was carrying his son-in-law’s child. Moreover, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt an urge and acted on it, just like that. He was a creature of planning and careful thought. He put the mug down on the table with a firm thunk. But he was a Grey Warden now, his lifespan constrained to no one knew how many years, given his age when tainted, and how many more opportunities like this would come his way? He remembered, as well, the way Celia had been in the early stages of her pregnancy—her body unusually sensitive, her … interest level the highest it reached in all the years of their marriage. The memory caused him to swell harder beneath the table. The witch seemed well enough, and receptive, and it wasn’t as though he would force her. He cleared his throat.

“Perhaps,” he said. “If no one waits for you, then you are free to do as you like?”

“I am.”

“It seems that I am, as well. Would you … care to join me in my room?”

Her eyes widened with surprise and some kind of triumphant amusement. “A most unexpected request. Are you certain?”

“Yes.” He stood up, the chair scraping across the floorboards. “Are you?”

“Indeed.” She stood as well, preceding him across the room. 

Loghain followed, trying not to feel—or look—self-conscious. If this was his choice, he might as well be bold about it. He locked the door behind them, turning to look at her. She stood, her arms at her side, waiting. She wasn’t going to assist him in this madness at all. Fine, then. It had been a while—the last woman to look upon him with interest had been Cauthrien, and he couldn’t have put her in that position; no one would have respected her if they thought she’d been sleeping with the General—but he thought he could remember how this went.

He crossed the room, pulling her firmly into his arms.

“I do like a man who takes what he wants,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

The cool, teasing tone angered and inflamed him. “Silence, witch,” he growled, his mouth on hers. Her lips parted almost immediately, her tongue boldly entering his mouth and finding his. His hand splayed across her hips, pressing her against him, while the other hand found the opening of her garment. Loghain brushed the edge of her breast with his fingertips.

Morrigan gasped, jerking in his arms at the sensation, and Loghain’s lip curled up in a smile. He remembered how sensitive Celia’s breasts had been when she was carrying Anora, back when intimacy was a regular thing for them and not an occasional moment fueled by guilt. He stroked Morrigan’s breast more firmly, hearing her moan as her head fell back. Slowly, his thumb traveled up over the soft flesh until it found her nipple, already stiffened, and brushed the peak ever so lightly. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders almost painfully and her hips shifted against him. Liking the reactions he was garnering from her, he brushed the nipple again, and again, as Morrigan panted and clung to him. Then, wanting more, he pushed the loose fabric of her top away from the swollen peak of her breast and took the nipple into his mouth, sucking.  
The woman in his arms cried out, writhing against him, and her hands tangled in his hair almost violently, holding him against her breast. He nibbled and licked and sucked while teasing the other breast with hand and thumb. Morrigan trembled with the pleasure, which she didn’t seem to have expected. She was leaning harder against the arm he held her with, and Loghain left her breast with a parting kiss on the gleaming wet nipple and maneuvered her to the bed. During the process, he did away with her top and his own shirt.

Morrigan lay on the bed, her beautiful eyes hazy and half-lidded with desire. Loghain wondered for a moment if she had looked that way at Alistair—yes, apparently he was petty enough to let that thought cross his mind. But it didn’t stay there, as Morrigan’s hand moved to his own chest, teasing his nipples to erectness and scraping the nails against his skin. It had been a long time since a woman had touched him, and he was content to allow it, to lay back as she shifted on top of him and put her clever mouth to work on his neck and chest. She wasn’t gentle—she used her teeth freely, sending little frissons of electricity through his body. Whether magical or physical, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care. He’d never been opposed to mages, and wouldn’t mind having her use magic on him, but in this case he thought it was his body’s own reaction. 

She slid off the edge of the bed, dropping her leather skirt to the floor and standing naked before him. She’d clearly found time to bathe in the hours he was making arrangements and seeing to Velanna, and the curls sprang dark and full and soft between her legs. Not to be outdone, Loghain got up, unbuttoning his trousers and removing them with his smallclothes. Boldly, Morrigan got her knees, taking his hardened length into her hands and then into her mouth, while Loghain hissed in surprise and arousal, and reached out to brace himself against the wall. 

After a long suck, Morrigan removed him from her mouth, oblivious to his moan of protest. “You taste of battle. And armor.” That she relished the flavor was evident from the way in which she went after him, until Loghain wasn’t sure if he could keep from spending himself in her mouth. Urgently, he gripped her shoulders, pushing her away with reluctance.

Morrigan tilted her head back to look up at him, licking her wet lips as if to gather up the taste of him, and with a groan he sank down onto the floor next to her, plastering his mouth to hers. She was right, it tasted of battle, the flavor going to his head with all the rush of adrenaline, all the sweetness and the sorrow that went with throwing yourself into something with your whole heart, ready to give everything you had … He leaned his head against Morrigan’s shoulder as she draped her legs over his and sank down upon him, the movement familiar and yet new. She cradled his head to her breasts, moving slowly and surely, and somehow the whole tenor of the encounter had changed. This strange and fearsome young woman was giving him an energy and a peace he hadn’t known in many years, stripping away the anger and the bitterness until he could glimpse a Loghain he thought he knew beneath it all. And what was he giving her? He supposed that would be for her to know and him to find out. It seemed good enough to see that she was getting something out of it, her eyes closing and her head falling back, shrieks of ecstasy filling the air around them as she thrust herself down upon him harder and harder. He thrust with her, feeling that edge approaching. Just a little … bit … harder … faster … there! He convulsed against her, feeling the little shudders that meant she was already coming down, her damp head tucking into the hollow beneath his chin.

They sat there for a long time, holding one another, each keeping their thoughts to themselves. At last Morrigan stirred, looking up at him. “I had not expected you to be quite so … adept.”

“I believe that whatever a man puts his mind to, he should do to the best of his ability.”

“Hm. ‘Tis a pity not to know whether that was your best. Perhaps I will need further experiences for comparison.” Her clever little mouth and sharp teeth were working at his neck now, the renewed slickness between her legs a clear sign that she was ready for more. With surprise, he felt the stirring in his own loins that indicated he was, too. Perhaps Oghren hadn’t been exaggerating about Grey Warden stamina, Loghain thought as his hands moved to find those exquisitely sensitive breasts again. He looked forward to finding out just how much stamina that was.


	39. Tower

The familiar smells of fish and lyrium assaulted Judith’s nose as she stepped onto the boat from the Redcliffe docks. She shivered, and Daniel put an arm around her. “Are you all right, dearest?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this.” The boat pushed off, the rhythmic sway of it mocking her words as too little, too late. “If I couldn’t even sleep at Redcliffe after what happened there, how can I face the Circle?” The memory of the Tower’s gore still retained its place in the shuffle of her nightmares.

“Do you need to? We could send a message, go visit the Tower after you’ve had some time.”

“How long would that be?” Judith asked bitterly. “Is there a time limit on the horror of seeing pieces of your friends’ bodies on the tables you used to eat at, or of slaughtering a demon that has your ex-lover’s eyes?” She cast a sideways glance at Daniel. “Sorry.”

“What kind of a cad do you think I am?” he asked. “I can reserve my jealousy over the fact that you had lovers before me until you’re not speaking of having had to kill them.” He smiled at her, his hand squeezing her waist.

“Very generous of you.” She put her hand over his, grateful for his humor and his support. Their short marriage had been rocky and filled with separations and misunderstandings, but she couldn’t imagine her life without him. Turning, she lifted her lips to his. “Thank you.”

He started to make a joke, but the look in her blue eyes stopped him. “You’re welcome.”

They stayed like that for a long time, taking strength from each other’s presence. There was much they still had to talk about before what they had could become a true marriage, Daniel thought, bracing his legs against the movement of the boat beneath them, but they had come so far already. Patience and learning how to talk to each other would take them the rest of the way, he was sure of it.

Eventually the boat docked at the Tower, the usual trip from Redcliffe shortened somewhat by a good breeze. “Now or never,” Judith muttered, stepping off the boat and onto the docks. It was strange not to have a Templar stationed at the end of the dock. Not that Judith had had many opportunities to ride on a boat before the beginning of the Blight, but she’d spent her fair share of time staring out the window wondering what it would be like to get on one of those boats and go somewhere, not to mention speculating what it would take to remove the Templars stationed outside so she could escape. Anders had done that once, she remembered, frozen a Templar in place and stolen a boat. He’d gotten to the other side of the lake, at least, that time.

They walked up the steps of the Tower, and Judith reached for the bellpull. After what seemed like a long time, the heavy doors swung open and a familiar, if worn and haggard, face appeared. 

“Petra?” 

“Judith!” A smile of what appeared to be relief crossed Petra’s face, and she ran down the steps, hugging her old friend. “You’re safe! I’m so relieved.”

“Safe? Safe from what?”

“We don’t know. Mages have been going missing for months now, ever since the end of the Blight. I … you don’t know what it’s like out there.”

“Missing? I haven’t heard anything about that,” Judith said, exchanging a glance with Daniel. “Petra, are you sure?”

“Keili, Godwin, Stana, Gerd, Franciscus …”

Judith’s jaw dropped. She recognized all those names. “But how?”

“We don’t know.” Petra straightened. “The Tower is safe. And Irving is in Denerim, at the Palace, so he should be all right. He went there to see King Alistair and ask for his help—Dagna got a letter from him just a couple of days ago.”

“Petra, I had no idea. I’ve been away.” Judith put her arm around her friend’s waist. “Let’s go in and you can tell me all about it.”

“He can’t come in.” The other mage’s voice was flat and uncompromising as she looked at Daniel.

“This is Daniel, my husband. Of course he can.” Judith hugged Petra tighter. She’d never seen the other mage so undone.

“No. We can’t guarantee the Tower’s safety if we allow non-mages inside. He can wait at the Spoiled Princess for you.”

“Give us a minute, will you?” Judith drew Daniel aside. “This is … shocking. The news, and Petra herself. She’s always been so collected. Like Wynne. Would you mind going across to the Princess? I shouldn’t be long—just let me figure out what’s happening here.”

“I hate to leave you alone with whatever’s happening,” Daniel said. “Are you sure about this? I don’t think I like it.”

“Meet me here in the morning. I should know what’s going on by then—at least, as much as they do. We can figure out what to do from there.”  
The whole thing seemed strange to Daniel. But these were her people, and he needed to trust her that she knew what she was doing. “All right,” he said, sighing. “Be careful.” He kissed her, holding her close.

Judith watched as Daniel got on the boat. Then she turned to follow her friend into the Tower.   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Daniel disembarked from the boat, walked up to the Spoiled Princess, and engaged a room for the night from the barman. “Send you a plate of stew and a cider, ser?” the barman asked.

“Sounds good, thanks.” Daniel found an empty table in the corner, putting his bag down on a chair and taking the other for himself. After a few minutes, a red-haired dwarf appeared with a steaming plate of stew and a mug, setting them down in front of him.

“Anything you need, ser?”

“If you have a minute?”

The dwarf looked around, but it seemed pretty quiet, and the barman had gone into the back room. She nodded.

“What’s happening at the Circle Tower?” Daniel asked, keeping his voice low.

“You’ve been there?”

“Just came from there. They wouldn’t let me stay.”

“No, they haven’t been letting people in. Unless they’re mages. Then they go in … and they don’t come out.” 

“That sounds strange,” Daniel said. 

“It’s the way it used to be, isn’t it? Before the Hero set the mages free. Only difference now is it isn’t the Templars keeping the mages in anymore.”

“Are the Templars all gone?”  
The dwarf looked around again, and leaned a bit closer to Daniel. “I see one around now and then. Big blond fellow. I think he’s sweet on one of the mages. Isn’t that romantic?” she whispered.

“What makes you think so?” Based on Judith’s descriptions, Daniel had a hard time imagining a Templar-mage attachment as a deep romance. 

“The Templar shows up here every so often, spends a lot of time poking around the docks, and then I see him with a paper in his hand. Like he found a secret message or something. He gets all bronto-eyed about it, too.”

“Really.” It occurred to Kylon that a mage in the Tower working, however inexplicably, with the Templars would be an invaluable resource to them. “Thank you, uh …”

“Felsi.” She turned to go, then turned back again. “Ser?”

“Yes, Felsi?”

“Pardon my asking, but … aren’t you the Arl of Denerim?”

He blinked, unused to being recognized—his own minor notoriety paled next to Judith’s, and most people didn’t look past her. “How did you know?”

“I might have been around in Denerim after the end of the Blight. So, um, you know Oghren?”

“I do. I take it you do, as well?”

“We’ve … met.”

From her expression, Kylon suspected Oghren’s description of their relationship would have been a lot more colorful.

“How is he?” Felsi asked hesitantly.

“Uh, good. He’s a Grey Warden now, did you know that?”

“He is? Well, good on him. Wouldn’t have thought he had it in him. Is he, um, uh …”

Kylon looked at her kindly. “He seems fairly involved with an elf named Shianni. Happily enough, from what I can tell.”

“Oh.” Felsi’s shoulders slumped a little. “An elf, eh? Surprised he doesn’t snap her like a twig. Thank you, ser.” She turned, leaving Kylon alone to ruminate about Templars and mages and the fear he had felt rolling off Petra. Increasingly he worried that he shouldn’t have left Judith there on her own … but the bridge they were rebuilding was still so fragile, he hadn’t been comfortable arguing with her about it. He hoped his reticence didn’t come back to bite them both.   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Cullen ran blindly through the forest, branches whipping at his face and snagging on his clothes. Never once had he imagined the mages might escape! He cursed the overzealousness of his team in kidnapping a Grey Warden—they’d had strict orders to stay away from the Wardens. Now most of the men were dead, Carroll had been captured, and the whole thing was in a shambles. He blessed the impulse that had led him to keep Carroll and the others in the dark about who was in charge of the project. Cullen had never wanted to put his lady in danger from those who wouldn’t have understood the purpose of their investigations, and now he was the only one who knew of her involvement.

They could go away now, the two of them, be together, start afresh. He could take her back where she came from, where there were no mages. Maybe she wouldn’t need the mages’ blood to learn the secret of their power—she was so clever, she could do anything. But he had to get to her before they caught him. Only when he felt her arms around his neck and saw her beautiful smile would he feel safe. 

He ran faster, his lungs burning from the strain.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The usually bustling entryway to the Tower was empty and silent. Judith stopped on the threshold, startled. She’d never seen this room without people in it—visitors, Templars, privileged Senior Enchanters and their apprentices. Today the only person to be seen was the dwarf Dagna, bent over a set of papers at a desk. Dagna looked up, smiling at Judith. 

“Commander! It’s good to see you safe.”

“Dagna, this is the first I’ve heard of any of this,” Judith said. “What do we know?”

“We know something terrible is happening to mages outside these walls!” Petra said urgently, her voice thinning and cracking.

“Now, Petra,” Dagna said. “We’ve talked about this. We need to keep calm and be strong. For the others.”

“You’re right,” Petra said, hanging her head. “But how can we save the other mages if it isn’t safe to leave the Tower?”

“I don’t understand,” Judith said. “I’ve been outside the Tower—it simply isn’t that bad.”

“How many mages have you seen?” Dagna asked.

Judith flushed slightly. “None,” she said slowly, “I suppose.”

“We’re just glad to have you here,” Dagna said with her cheery smile. The little dwarf cocked her head, studying Judith speculatively. “You must be hungry after your long trip. Shall we talk about this over something to eat? I think we can scare up some sandwiches and a pot of tea. My special brew!”

The three of them continued into the Tower. The hallways were all but empty, only a few apprentices and mages wandering the halls. She’d been nervous about coming to the Tower and reliving the experience of taking it back from the demons, but this was almost worse. The eerie emptiness made the place seem haunted. “Where is everyone?”

Dagna frowned. “There aren’t many left. Between those lost to Uldred’s treachery, those who left when the Tower was freed, and those who have never returned from trips outside the walls, the complement of mages in the Tower is very small.”

Judith shook her head. This was nothing like the Tower she had grown up in. For the first time, she wondered if freedom for the mages had been the right boon to ask from Alistair.

Over sandwiches and Dagna’s tea—which was delicious—Dagna and Petra filled her in on the disappearances they knew about, and the three of them went through lists of names.

“So many missing,” Judith said, shaking her head over the lists. 

“I’m just glad you’re here where you belong,” Dagna said, reaching over to touch Judith on the arm. “We were concerned for you. It’s not safe out there for mages.”

Judith frowned. “But I haven’t heard of any of this. Why wouldn’t I, if it’s so unsafe? Perhaps some of these mages have simply gone to live a normal life.” She yawned suddenly. “Excuse me.” 

“You must be exhausted,” Dagna said. “That’s why you aren’t making any sense. Mages are disappearing all over Ferelden. Right, Petra?”

Petra nodded. “I think we should call all the mages back here. The Tower is the only safe place left for us.”

Another yawn disrupted Judith’s thought processes. She wished Daniel were here to add his wise counsel. Thinking of Daniel led to thinking about his broad shoulders and chest, and how much she’d like to lean her head against him and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. She blinked, her eyelids heavy. “I’m sorry, what were you saying, Petra? Call everyone back?”

“It’s the only sensible course, don’t you agree?”

“Uh … it sounds logical,” Judith agreed vaguely. She was so sleepy she was having trouble following the conversation. 

Dagna smiled at her. “The sun on the water takes a lot out of a person,” she said. “Shall we show you to a room and pick this up in the morning?”

Judith nodded drowsily. “That sounds nice.” She allowed Dagna to lead her to a bedroom and help her lie down on the bed, asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

The little dwarf left the room, closing the door behind her. Taking up a ring of keys at her belt, she selected one and locked the door. With a cheerful smile on her face, she headed down the empty corridor.


	40. Interrogation

Daniel paced impatiently up and down the dock. Judith was late. He looked up at the sun again, then back to the boatman, Kester. He climbed the Tower steps and hammered on the heavy doors, an action he had already taken three times. There was still no response.

With a string of curses that Kester appeared to find impressive, Daniel returned to the boat. “Back across, Kester, and be quick about it.” He fumed his way across. What kind of damned fool had he been to leave her in there on her own? He should have insisted on going with her, should have refused to let her go until they could get Anders or someone … Anders! That was the answer. He had to get word to the Vigil and get Anders here. But that might take forever, another voice whispered in his head. How long was he willing to wait? Yes, he supposed she could have forgotten, lost track of the time, decided that whatever was happening in the Tower was more important than keeping her promise. But his gut said that the bridge they were building was too fragile for her to miss their scheduled meeting. Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions, but he was worried about her. Somehow he was going to have to find a way inside that tower. 

As soon as the boat was within jumping distance of the dock, Daniel leaped across the open space, hitting the dock at a run. He burst through the doors of the Spoiled Princess, heading straight for the bar. 

The barman looked up, concern crossing his face. “Ser?”

“I need a message sent to the Grey Wardens at Vigil’s Keep. Immediately.” 

“Of course. You write it out, I’ll have it sent post-haste.”

Daniel took the paper and pen the barman found for him and sat at a table, scribbling rapidly. He folded the paper, sealing it with some wax from the candle on the table and pressing his signet ring into the hot wax. Spying the dwarf, Felsi, he called her over.

“Ser?”

Kylon handed her the message. “Can you give this to the barman for delivery?” She nodded. “Also, you mentioned a fellow who shows up here sometimes, who has a lover in the Tower? Can you let me know if he happens to show up while I’m here?” It was a long shot, but maybe this ex-Templar could get him into the Tower. 

“He’s here now, ser! Showed up this morning.”

“Really? Where is he?”

“Outside. He’s over by the edge of the docks. I think he’s looking for a note,” Felsi whispered.

“Thank you, Felsi.” The dwarf moved away from the table. Kylon left the inn, walking with studied casualness across the grass and toward the docks. He didn’t want to scare the man off.

A disheveled man with curly blond hair sat hunched over in the shadow of the far dock. His clothes had been nice once, the fabrics sumptuous and the cut expert. But whatever the man had been doing had utterly ruined them. They were torn and filthy, covered in mud and grass stains. The curly head was bent over his updrawn knees.

“Troubles, my friend?” Kylon asked softly, moving cautiously toward the unhappy man.

The man’s head snapped up, and his eyes widened in shock and dismay when he recognized Kylon. “You! What are you doing here? Is she here?” He jumped to his feet, backing slowly toward the lake.

Kylon recognized the man as the one Judith had pointed out to him. She had been concerned when she saw him, said the troubles in the Tower had broken him. Disquiet filled Kylon’s chest. He’d acted on his instincts as a guardsman many times, and they’d rarely failed him—right now, those instincts were urging him to catch this man and get some answers. With a running leap, he tackled the ex-Templar, bringing the strong body down onto the sand of the lakeshore. The two men scuffled, rolling on the ground, breathing in short gasps. How long this lasted, Kylon didn’t know. Eventually he found enough leverage to jam his knee between the other man’s legs. The curly-haired man gasped, letting go of Kylon, who swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, where a cut was dribbling blood into his eyes.

Standing up with some difficulty—one knee was throbbing, and the wrist he’d used to leverage himself off the ground appeared sprained—Kylon put his booted foot down on the ex-Templar’s throat. The man scrabbled at Kylon’s boot, his hands falling weakly away as Kylon increased the pressure just enough. “I want some answers, and I want them now.”

“And does it matter from whom these answers come, my dear Arl?” The accented voice was entirely unexpected, and Kylon leaped nearly a foot in the air, almost falling over.

“Zev, I swear to the Maker, if you don’t stop that!”

“But why should I do so, when flustered and off-guard becomes you so well?” The Antivan stepped forward, his usual easy smile on his face, but his eyes were hard as they took in Kylon’s wrestling partner. “Where have you found this specimen, may I ask?”

“He was waiting here. The barmaid says he has a lover inside the Tower. I was hoping he could tell me why Judith failed to meet me this morning.”

“The Commander is in the Tower? Hm.” Zev’s eyes hardened even further, and Kylon felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Based on Zev’s expression, he’d been right to be concerned. 

The muddy ex-Templar looked up at Zev with fear and anger.

“No need to look at me that way, my friend. I am not the one who stormed your fortress and rescued your victims.”

“Fortress? Victims?” Kylon was mystified.

“You did not know? These ex-Templars were kidnapping mages, experimenting with their blood.” Zev’s voice grew thoughtful. “I would very much like to know why.”

“I’m not telling you anything.” There was a weary bravado in the ex-Templar’s hoarse voice.

“Oh, I can believe you might not. After all, I was merely trained by the Antivan Crows. I am certain that I have no techniques at my disposal that could … loosen your tongue.” Zev yawned, buffing his nails on his leather armor, but the eyes of the man at his feet widened, the implicit threat not lost on him. “However, I think you will want to speak with my companion. He is quite motivated to cause you pain, and far less interested in what you might have to say.”

Kylon followed Zev’s gaze to the man approaching, and his eyes widened in surprise and relief when he recognized Anders.

“Anders, you have to help me—“ he started, but it was clear Anders had eyes for no one but the muddy man under Kylon’s foot. As the mage neared, Kylon moved his boot. The curly-haired man got to his hands and knees and tried to scramble away from the big mage’s onrush.

“CULLEN, you bastard!” Anders roared. He lifted the man by his filthy jerkin. Kylon had never noticed before how large and powerfully muscled Anders’s arms and shoulders were. “What did you think you were doing, you sodding, Maker-forsaken, nug-humping, Blight-ridden …” The mage’s voice trailed off. Kylon could only be glad Oghren wasn’t here to fill in some more expletives.

“I was ridding Thedas of people like you!” Cullen yelled back, although it lost some of the impact it might have had with him hanging from Anders’s fist like a puppy being chastised.

“My friends,” Zev said quietly. “Perhaps it would be best if we moved this conversation to someplace less public.” He gestured at Kester and some of the dockworkers and inn staff, who were starting to stare.

“Fine,” Anders said. He kept a tight grip on Cullen’s collar, dragging the man along with him as they made their way toward the inn.

“How long has our lovely Commander been in the Tower?”

“Since yesterday. They wouldn’t let me in, and she didn’t come out to meet me as she’d said she would. I can’t tell you why it scares me—but it does.” It was a tremendous relief to have Anders and Zev here, to know he didn’t have to try storming the Circle Tower on his own. “We have to get her out of there.”

“We shall, my friend.” Zev’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder for a moment.

Inside the inn, young Finbar looked at the three of them, questions obvious on his face, but Anders’s thunderous expression precluded answering them. Finbar led them up the stairs to the room he’d just finished hiring. 

Anders shoved Cullen across the room. The ex-Templar stumbled, falling onto the bed. He sat up, eyeing Anders warily.

“That’s right, you unholy bastard. Just try to get up. I’ve got a few spells I’d love to practice on you.”

Zev casually motioned Finbar to a spot in front of the door. With a brief nod, the red-haired lad leaned back against the door, crossing his arms and looking as forbidding as his friendly, freckled countenance would allow.

Anders and Zev stood over Cullen, who glared at them.

“Start talking, Templar,” the mage sneered.

“Not to you. How is it, hiding behind the Ice Princess’s skirts to avoid being dragged back to the Tower?”

“How is it having all your authority stripped from you? Not so high and mighty without the bucket on your head, are you?”

“Anders,” Kylon said sharply. He was content to let the assassin and the mage conduct this interrogation, since they clearly knew more about what was going on than he did, but not getting drawn into an argument with the man you were questioning was basic good sense.

“Right.” Anders took a step back.

“Now, my friend,” Zev said, “perhaps you might like to tell us what exactly it was you were trying to accomplish in that dungeon.”

“Not if blessed Andraste herself were to ask me.”

“If you’d like to see Andraste, that can be arranged.” A crackle of lightning sparked from Anders’s fingers.

“Do not blaspheme, you filthy maleficar!” Cullen cried, honestly shocked. 

Anders began to protest, but interest sparked in Zev’s eyes at the term, and he put a hand on Anders’s arm, shaking his head warningly.

“You do not seem to understand your position here. We have the power to take from you all the knowledge you possess, and my friend here will not hesitate to do so, should you continue to resist our questions. You yourself called him a maleficar, did you not?” Zev’s voice was silky and cold. His words were clearly having an effect. Cullen’s eyes widened, and he looked to Anders in fear. The mage’s shoulders tensed; Kylon imagined he didn’t enjoy playing the part of a blood mage. The whole scenario was bringing back unpleasant memories of the time Kylon had spent in Arl Howe’s dungeons, when the Arl had commissioned a blood mage to interrogate Kylon. Apparently Zev was aware of that, too. He shot a quick, sympathetic glance over his shoulder at Kylon before turning back to Cullen. “It would be so much easier if you just told me what it is I wish to know.”

“What—What do you want?” Cullen asked, almost whimpering. Sweat stood out on his forehead.

“What was the purpose behind abducting mages and studying their blood?”

Cullen swallowed, his eyes moving frantically from one set face to the next. “W-we wanted to find out what made a mage … a mage.”

“You mean, the source of the magic?” Anders asked, interested in spite of himself.

“Yes. Sh- I- We thought it was in the blood. So we took them, we took their blood, we studied it.”

“Did you find anything?”

“No.” An expression of pure malice crossed Cullen’s face. “But they died, which was just as good.”

“You son-of-a—“ Anders lunged at the prisoner, hands reaching for Cullen’s neck. But Kylon pulled him back. 

“Time enough, my friend,” the assassin said quietly. He looked back at Cullen, who was looking smug and self-satisfied. Zev drew one of his daggers, flipping it casually in the air. “If your ultimate goal was to kill the mages, why did you want their blood? What did you intend to do with the knowledge, had you acquired any?”

Cullen’s eyes were glued to the flashing blade of the dagger. Zev had to repeat the question to get his attention. The light of a true believer brightened Cullen’s eyes, and he half-rose from the bed. “We were trying to help! If we could find out what makes a mage a mage, we could stop it! We could prevent children from becoming mages. Wipe them all out. No more magic, no more abominations, no more demons.”

Looked at from a Templar perspective, Kylon could see the enticement in such an idea. He could imagine the general populace being convinced that it was a good plan—if there had been a way to keep Melanie from being a mage, to keep her from being taken from them, would he and his mother not have leaped at it? But that was then. Today, he had the memory of Judith’s shining eyes as she explained to him what it meant to be a mage; how could anyone bear to take away such a gift? How could a mage live without magic?

Anders was shaking his head, looking weary and sad. 

“Who else?” Zev was unaffected by Cullen’s revelation. He leaned forward, his eyes boring into the ex-Templar’s. “Whose idea was this?”

“M-mine.”

“Please.” Zev’s tone dripped contempt. 

“The barmaid says he has a girlfriend in the Tower. She leaves him notes,” Kylon put in. He was controlling his fear for Judith’s welfare with the very edges of his will—nothing would be gained if he allowed his anxiety to take over. He accepted Zev’s acknowledging glance and stepped back, curling his fingers into fists to avoid upsetting the delicate balance in the room by an impulsive word or act.

“So. You have an amora in the Tower?”

“I’m not telling you anything!”

Zev held the dagger out to Anders. “My friend, find me his secrets.” A look flashed between the mage and the assassin, a look that confirmed for Kylon that Anders wasn’t a blood mage and had no idea how to go about being one, but the mage took the dagger willingly enough. “Last chance,” Zev said as Anders held the knife poised over his palm.

“Do your worst. I will never betray her!”

“Interesting,” Zev said. He held up a hand, and Anders kept the dagger where it was, the tip just touching his palm. “You have such devotion for your mage, while—“

“She’s not a mage!!” Cullen surged up from the bed, nearly enraged at the idea. “No filthy mage will ever touch me. Dirty, corrupted abominations—“ 

Cullen’s rant was cut off by the hilt of Zevran’s other dagger knocking into his head. The ex-Templar fell unconscious to the bed. 

“What did you do that for?” Anders asked. “Now we don’t know who his contact in the Tower is.”

“Oh, yes, my friend. We do. There is only one person in the Tower who fits his description.”

“We have to get in there,” Kylon said. “Maker only knows what they might be doing to Judith.”

Zev nodded crisply. “We will, Daniel. Never fear.”


	41. Monologue

Judith stirred, blinking. It was hard to recall where she was. Redcliffe, perhaps? She tried to reach out for Daniel, but she couldn’t seem to move her arms. Or her legs. And whatever was beneath her was entirely too cold and hard to be a bed.

Disquiet awoke within her, and she fought the muzziness that clung to the edges of her brain, straining to remember yesterday’s events. The Circle! That’s where she was. And something had been strange. It was too quiet there. Petra’s face had been pinched and white with fear; but Dagna hadn’t been afraid. Why wasn’t Dagna afraid? 

“You’re awake! That’s great!” The dwarf’s voice was cheerful and enthusiastic as always. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

Judith had to clear her throat to speak. “How long have I been asleep?” 

“Oh, more than a day. I was starting to think I’d have to hurry the process along.”

More than a day? Daniel would be frantic! Or he would be angry. Would he think she had failed to meet him on purpose? Maker, she hoped not. Judith tried to move again, but this time she realized that her hands were strapped to something. And so were her legs. She was in an upright position, staring at a stone wall.

“Sorry about the straps,” Dagna said from somewhere outside Judith’s field of vision. “I couldn’t take the chance that you might get free. I never expected you would show up here! Now that I’ve got you, I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep you.”

“Keep me? For what?”

“I can hardly let you go, now can I?”

Judith was clearly missing something here. “Why not?”

“I have plans. You might get in the way of them.” Dagna shook her head regretfully. “No, much as I appreciate your help getting me out of Orzammar and into the Circle, I’m afraid I can’t have you out there where you might spoil everything.”

“I don’t understand. What could I possibly do?”

“You? The Hero of Ferelden? The person who always seems to be in the right place at the right time and fixes everyone’s problems? You could do a great deal of harm.”

Judith rolled her head against the cold, hard surface she was strapped to. “You can’t keep me here. It isn’t practical. What will you tell Petra?”

“Petra thinks you left already. She was quite disappointed that you didn’t say good-bye. And is very concerned for your safety.”

“Why is Petra so scared? She seems to think mages are being kidnapped and killed all over Ferelden!”

“They are.”

There was a hard, dark edge to Dagna’s voice that Judith had never heard there before. It sent a chill down her back. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been meaning to thank you, actually,” Dagna said, strolling into Judith’s view. “You’ve done so much more to further my plans than I had ever hoped you might. Not just helping me out of Orzammar, but then setting the mages free from the Templars’ control. You didn’t even come here to help out afterward! That left the door wide open for me.”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Judith’s head was clearer now, the last vestiges of whatever drug Dagna must have used on her dissipating. Slowly, trying not to make the movements obvious, she tested her bonds.

Dagna didn’t answer immediately, and when Judith met the dwarf’s eyes, she was startled by the calm amusement in them. Dagna looked like the same cheerful, innocent girl she’d always seemed. What had happened to her?

“You won’t get free, you know. And you won’t be able to use your magic, either,” Dagna said, watching as Judith stretched out her hands, feeling for the moisture in the air to form ice with. The dwarf giggled. “The Templars left all sorts of things behind, including all these anti-magic restraints. Very careless of them. Of course, they may have had some help packing. And I may have left some things out. Oh, the advantages to being the only person in the Tower whom everybody trusts!”

“Are you insane?” It was a legitimate question. She certainly sounded insane.

Dagna cocked her head to the side, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think so. I just want what everyone wants.”

“What is that?”

“Respect! And power.”

“Of course. How foolish of me.”

“I would go easy on the sarcasm if I were you. After all, you don’t even know where you are, and neither does anyone else.”

“Daniel will find me.”

“Daniel? Oh, your husband. Quite a love story. Anyone else might have chosen tall, blond, and handsome, made herself the King’s mistress. Or dallied with that dangerous-looking elf. Or come back here and made up with your first victim. You know, he still talks about you.”

“My … first victim?”

“Cullen! The Templar you teased and tormented when you were a hotshot Tower mage.” Dagna frowned. “Between you and Uldred, poor Cullen has had a rough time holding onto his sanity.”

“I never tormented Cullen! That was all in his head.” 

“If you say so. That’s not how he remembers it. Confidentially, he’s quite angry with you over the way you treated him.” Dagna’s eyes lit up as she smiled. “He had some help developing that mindset. He really is quite malleable, if you apply the proper persuasive techniques.” The dwarf leered up at Judith, who felt a bit nauseous as she got Dagna’s drift. The only thing more disturbing than imagining Cullen having sex was imagining Cullen having sex with Dagna.

“What exactly have you been persuading Cullen to do?”

“Don’t you know?” Dagna’s eyebrows drew together as she stared at Judith with consternation. “I’ve been having him round up loose mages and experiment on them. Sadly for them, they didn’t survive the process.”

“Who?” Judith ran through names and faces in her mind. “Which mages?”

“I’m not certain. You see, I had to stay here, to manage things. Cullen was in charge of collecting mages. With some help from the Grand Cleric.”

“The Grand …” Realization dawned. “You were using their phylacteries to track them down? Why would she have given those to you?”

“She appreciated our ultimate goal. She’s a very reasonable woman.”

“And what is your ultimate goal?”

“According to Cullen, we’re studying mages’ blood to determine what makes a mage a mage.”

“Really? Did you find out?” Judith asked, honestly curious.

“No,” Dagna snapped. “These sodding Templars and their lyrium addiction. None of them have any ability to appreciate the scientific method.”

“Sounds frustrating,” Judith agreed. She didn’t know how long she could keep the dwarf talking, but every minute had to help. “Why didn’t you do the experimenting yourself?”

“I thought it would be easier if I wasn’t directly involved. I didn’t want to jeopardize my position here. But they found nothing! Nothing!” She stamped her small foot. 

“What were you going to do if you did find out? I suppose it’s too much to hope that you simply wanted knowledge for the sake of knowledge.”

“What has that ever gotten anyone? Dwarves like things to have practical applications. We’re not much on abstract thought.”

“So what’s the practical application, then? Wait,” Judith said before Dagna could respond, “I think I can imagine. You thought if you could determine where the magic comes from, you could keep people from becoming mages, end the need for the Circle and the Templars.”

“Oh, you’re very good. That’s exactly what Cullen thinks.”

Judith studied the dwarf intently. “Ah. So I take it Cullen’s wrong.”

“Of course! Cullen hears what he wants to hear, and he was eager to help with such a good cause.” Dagna shook her head. “Dear, gullible boy. But I’m sure you can imagine the truth, can’t you?”

Judith closed her eyes, groaning silently to herself. This was her fault, for taking this adorable girl literally at face value, assuming she was as sweet and innocent and eager for knowledge as she seemed. She should have recognized the calculating ambition beneath the façade and refused to help. “You want to be a mage.”

“Yes!” Dagna’s eyes were shining like a child’s. “The first dwarva mage! I want to close my eyes and feel the power flowing through me, the magic all the way to my fingertips. I want to walk the Fade, to converse with the spirits who live there, to learn their secrets and the ways to control them. I want to go home to Orzammar and slay a thousand darkspawn with my powers, to dazzle the deshyrs and prove to my father that the caste system is stupid and outdated. I want all of Orzammar to see what kind of power we could be if we had magic inside us. I want to lead the dwarva out of the darkness and conquer all Thedas! They’ll make me a Paragon; I’ll found a house all of my own. House Dagna. Has a lovely ring to it, doesn’t it?”

She looked at Judith triumphantly, her whole face lit up with the fervor of her enthusiasm. 

“Those are … big plans,” Judith said. “You were going to do this all on your own?”

Dagna shrugged. “The Templars were useful tools, but I don’t think they’d have been so enthusiastic if they’d known the true purpose of the investigation was to bring further honor and glory to the dwarva.”

“No, I would imagine not.”

The dwarf’s gaze shifted over Judith’s shoulder. “Look how late it’s gotten! You have no idea what it’s like to finally be able to talk to someone who can understand. Such a relief, I completely lost track of time.”

Good, thought Judith. More time for Daniel to figure out she was in trouble and think of a way to get her out of here. If his thoughts went that direction. She shivered, suddenly afraid he might think she’d found something more important to do, let work come between them again. 

“I bet you’re wondering what I’m going to do with you,” Dagna said, almost sympathetically.

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Judith set her jaw, determined not to let the other woman see her fear.

“I’ve been considering that. Of course, I can hardly study your blood, due to the taint.” At Judith’s start of surprise, Dagna smiled. “Oh, those Grey Wardens. You’d be surprised how many of them are willing to talk when they come to Orzammar for their Calling. The taint and everything it comes with aren’t all that secret amongst my people. How does your husband feel about your inability to bear children? Or is he relieved not to be passing magic along to a baby? Stupid humans.” The dwarf’s face twisted with disgust. 

“He’s not like that! He—“ Judith stopped herself. It was none of this crazy dwarf’s business.

“Oh, so he is unhappy. Unhappy enough not to come for you?” Dagna was standing a bit too close for Judith’s liking, staring up into Judith’s face. “You seem worried about that.”

“He will come for me. As will the Grey Wardens.” Judith was ashamed that the second sentence rang with more certainty than the first. “I’m the Commander of the Grey—kill me, and you create an international incident.”

“Not if everyone thinks you became an abomination.” Dagna grinned happily. “There’s really no downside to that. You’re the symbol of everything good about mages—you, the mage who saved all of Thedas. People trust you, and because of you they’re beginning to trust other mages. So if you can succumb to the temptations of a demon, anyone can. The humans will come down even harder on their mages, make more of them Tranquil … and then when I come out of Orzammar at the head of an army of dwarva mages, who will there be to stop us?”

“The Templars?”

Dagna laughed heartily. “You don’t think I’ve spent all that time learning how to please Cullen without learning a few other things in return? I know just how to neutralize the Templars. Remember where their lyrium comes from.”

“You seem to have thought of everything.”

“Thanks!”

“Except one.”

“What’s that?”

“How are you going to get the power?”

“I don’t KNOW!” Dagna shouted, her little fists clenched at her sides. “Everything’s falling into place, but the secret remains just as hidden as it’s always been.”

“I thought so.”

“You know something, don’t you?” Dagna rushed toward Judith, stopping just inches from Judith’s stomach. She stared up into the mage’s face. “Tell me!”

“Why should I? You’re just going to kill me anyway.” Truthfully, Judith had no idea where the power came from, or how it was transmitted. She could have believed it was in the blood, since magic ran in families, but it sounded as though Dagna hadn’t had any luck with that method.

The dwarf glared at Judith, small foot tapping on the floor. “I could kill you more quickly if you told me.”

“And give up the chance of being rescued?”

“No one is coming for you. Do you hear me? No one. The sooner you get used to that idea, the better for both of us.” Dagna stepped back, her usual cheerful tone and look returning. “Think how exciting this could be if the two of us could work together. Think of the future for mages!”

“You mean the ones you intend to kill?”

“Well, future generations, then.”

“I’m not helping you, Dagna. I wish I’d left you where I found you.”

The dwarf sighed. “I was afraid you’d be that way. Well, there’s no help for it then.”

She walked out of Judith’s sight, and Judith could hear the turning of a crank of some kind. “What are you doing?” 

“The scientific method, of course. Let me know how it feels!” Dagna’s voice was bright and excited, and left Judith completely unprepared for the agonizing jolts of electricity.


	42. Rescue

Night fell on the Tower. High at the top, Dagna left the Harrowing Chamber, locking the door carefully behind her. 

Outside the Tower, a boat scraped up against the pebbled shore. The cloudy, moonless night was a boon for Kylon, Anders, Zev, and Finbar, who endeavored to make as little noise as possible as they climbed from the boat and made their way into the dense grass at the shoreline.

They had subdued Cullen, locking him securely in a holding cell the inn had kept to contain apostates overnight when Templars arrived too late to get to the Tower; they had dispatched messengers to Alistair, to the Vigil, and to Loghain, letting them know what they suspected. Zev had told Daniel and Anders about the young dwarf they met in Orzammar, how Judith had been instrumental in bringing Dagna to the Tower, and how Irving had mentioned what a boon Dagna had been, making herself indispensable to the First Enchanter in every way.

“It appears,” Zev had said, “that the innocence that so charmed my old friend Leliana was a mere façade. I think it is time to discover what lies beneath.”

The four of them had done their best to plan ahead for the assault on the Tower, but none of them knew entirely what to expect. Kylon counted himself lucky to have Anders there—the mage knew the Tower inside and out, all the ways to escape it, and all the ways the Templars had tried to keep him in. Even if Dagna turned those traps on them, they should be able to make their way in. Of course, after that came the difficulty of finding Judith and rescuing her. The Tower was large, and both Zev and Anders assured him it was labyrinthine. Finding her could take a long time, and even the phylactery Zev carried couldn’t pinpoint her location much further than simply ‘inside the Tower’. But that anxiety was best left to be dealt with once they were inside. That was the task for the moment.

Kylon hunched in the long grass, waiting for the signal. Finbar would wait here with the boat, covering their eventual escape. Anders and Zev would move first, each checking for traps in their own way. Kylon would follow, sword at the ready. He wished, suddenly, that they had brought Judith’s mabari. Sam’s nose would have been useful right about now. But the dog was back at the Vigil, far from this forbidding place where his mistress was imprisoned.

Anders snuck through the grass, stopping to hold a hand up. All Kylon could see were the tips of the mage’s fingers, where electricity crackled. It was too dark to see anything else; they were all hopeful the small amount of blue light wouldn’t be noticeable if anyone was watching from the Tower windows.

Slowly Anders moved around in the grass. Kylon saw the mage bend over. There was a click, and then Anders waved his hands, the blue sparks flashing in the darkness. Slowly Kylon moved ahead to join his companions. They were nearing the gardens now; soon they would be inside the Tower walls.

Zev inspected the door. Kylon could see the faint shine of the elf’s blond hair, but not much more. There was a faint sigh, perhaps a pressure plate releasing, and the crackle of electricity at Anders’s fingertips motioned Kylon forward again, through the door and into the gardens. Now it would be harder to see them from the Tower windows. 

Kylon left the door into the gardens open a crack behind him and followed Anders and Zev. Anders had mentioned there would be fewer traps inside the gardens—too many incidents with Tranquil getting injured as they tended the plants. The gardens were still in good shape, they could made it across to the kitchen door without running into trouble.

He saw the crackle and flash of the electricity as Anders stopped before the kitchen door. “Wards around the door,” Anders whispered softly. “Paranoid mages.” He stepped back, studying the door carefully. “Ah.” He shot an arcane bolt from each hand, hitting two small plates mounted on either side of the door. “Not paranoid about mages, thankfully.”

They let Zev go first through the door. He turned the knob achingly slowly, listening with one ear pressed against the door for any sign of activity within. Even more slowly, he began to push the door open. Suddenly he halted with a barely heard curse. He knelt, producing a pair of wickedly sharp scissors that shone in the light, and cut through something at the bottom of the door. He stood up, and the process began again, the door opening bit by bit. 

In the light from the door, Kylon saw Zev nod sharply. The elf slipped into the kitchen, Anders following closely. Kylon closed the kitchen door behind him.

Anders said something under his breath. When the others looked at him, he nodded to the door. “The wards are back up,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I could feel them setting themselves back in place.”

Kylon looked quickly around him. The kitchen was empty, every surface shining, every implement neatly put away, the fire banked for the night. “Now where?”

“I can’t be certain,” Anders whispered. “She could be—“ His voice cut off, and he looked startled.

“What?”

“I can feel her,” Anders said in surprise. “The taint! I’d forgotten about it.”

Zev gestured for quiet; Anders’s voice had risen with his enthusiasm. Very quietly, Kylon asked, “Can you tell where she is?”

Anders pointed upward. “She’s above us. Harrowing Chamber, I’d guess. It’s where I’d keep someone.”

“Then let’s go!” Kylon said impatiently, starting to lead the way. Zev’s slim but surprisingly strong hand closed on his shoulder and pulled him back.

“Carefully, my friend. We are no good to her if we allow ourselves to become impetuous.”

He began to protest, fear pumping in his veins, but the wisdom of Zev’s words was undeniable. He nodded, letting his friend go first.

The first floor was uneventful. They had to duck into shadows, hiding from a few Tranquil who went by, but none of the Tranquil looked anywhere but straight ahead. They gave Kylon the chills, thinking how easily any of the engaging, intelligent mages he knew could have ended up as one of these empty-eyed creatures.

Energy crackled visibly around the door that led to the next floor. Anders didn’t even pause; he reached into a crack in the stone, pressing a small lever hidden there. “An old trap, meant to keep visitors on the first floor unless accompanied by a Templar. All the mages knew about it, though.” The door swung open and they entered the dark stairway to the apprentice floor.

Where the first floor had been silent and mostly deserted, this floor was clearly populated—and yet still silent. Most of those living on this floor were asleep, other than two Tranquil who appeared to be patrolling the halls and a young apprentice in the library with her nose buried in a book. “We used to have to read forbidden books in the middle of the night, to avoid being seen by the Templars. Who is she hiding from now?” Anders whispered in Kylon’s ear. Kylon stuck to the shadows behind his companions, trying to move as quietly as he could in his bulky armor.

The third floor was the Enchanters’ floor—this lock required Anders to hit it with a spell that left a coating of frost on the lock, followed by a much more complicated looking set of movements that produced a ball of white light. The light suffused the door, and it opened.

“Much trickier to get around up here,” Anders said very softly as they made their way up the stairs. “Only Senior Enchanters and Templars. Be careful.”

The higher they got, the tigher Kylon’s nerves were wound. He jumped nervously at the small sounds made by someone still awake in one of the dorm rooms, and strained to make out the words of someone else whispering in another room.

He could barely stand still while Zev carefully searched around the door that led to the Templars’ floor. The assassin stood back, surveying the door carefully, before his nimble fingers found the hidden spring in the wood of the doorjamb, pressing it. The door swung open.

The Templars’ floor was deserted, their steps echoing eerily on the stone floors. Zev tried to urge the others to greater caution in their movements—they were too close to the top to be stopped now by carelessness—but Kylon was consumed by urgency, unable to slow down.

A scream echoed in the empty hallway, coming from a room at the end of the hall. Kylon nearly leaped out of his skin, his feet moving heedlessly toward the sound almost before he had registered what he heard.

“Stop!” It was a loud whisper, all Zev dared in the silence surrounding them. 

Kylon couldn’t wait for his friends—he knew where the scream had come from, and he had to get there. “She needs me.”

The other two had no choice but to follow as Kylon moved toward the door. They couldn’t even shout to him to wait for them before he opened it—he yanked at the knob as soon as he could reach it, pulling the door open.

The crossbow bolts that shot out knocked him back down the hall. The metal of his armor scraped along the floor, creating a loud noise that had Zev dropping back, every sense alert to any possible intrusion.

Anders’s hands were out, healing light shooting from his fingertips, before Kylon slid to a halt. Two bolts were embedded in Kylon’s armor, a third having flown over his head, landing near the other end of the hallway. Anders knelt at Kylon’s side, deftly feeling for the entry points of the bolts.

The mage clucked his tongue. “Damned fool.” He wrenched one of the bolts free, quickly staunching the blood that ran from it. “That’s one’s a flesh wound. This other one … not good.”

While Anders worked, Zev inspected the room the bolts had come from. “Ingenious,” he said. “I would like to study this mechanism—I have never seen anything like it. The scream came from this box, a lure to draw someone toward the room and thus create a victim for the crossbow trap mounted here. Ah, Dagna, how the Crows could use you.”

Kylon groaned as Anders probed at the second bolt. It felt as though fingers of light were slicing through his body, tugging and pulling at his internal organs.

“Ordinarily,” Anders said in response to the groan, “I would put someone to sleep with this wound. There’s no time for that right now. You’ll just have to suffer. And serves you right, too,” he added, tugging carefully at the shaft of the bolt.

Something shifted inside Kylon’s midriff. The blue light lanced into him, followed by a strange crawling sensation inside his body that was almost more disturbing than the pain. Things continued in this vein for several moments, Anders pulling the shaft out bit by bit and healing the wounds it left behind. At last the mage closed the skin around the wound. He uncorked a lyrium potion, downing the blue liquid.

Kylon got to his feet, feeling exceedingly foolish. 

“We had a plan,” hissed Zev. “Running off down the hall and snatching open a door was not part of it. You are fortunate to be alive.”

“Aren’t you all?” The cheerful voice startled them, and they turned to see a small red-haired dwarf grinning at them. “All that noise,” she said. “You could have woken the whole Tower. And no rush at all on the healing, as though you had all the time in the world. What a disappointing rescue party.”

Zev’s face became an unreadable mask, and he bowed. “Dagna, I believe. It has been some time.”

“I remember you! You were with the Grey Warden in Orzammar. Zev, wasn’t it?”

“Zevran Arainai, at your service.”

She nodded, looking past Zev to Anders and Kylon. “You must be Anders. The girls in the Tower say a lot about you.” She eyed him up and down with obvious interest, before shifting her gaze to Kylon. “And you have to be Daniel. I have to tell you, I’ve heard your name a lot in the last couple of hours. A little too much.”

Her smile didn’t falter, and Kylon felt a chill run down his spine. “Where is my wife?”

“Gone. Give up; you don’t want what’s left.” Dagna’s eyes were almost sympathetic. 

She was lying. She had to be lying, he told himself firmly. If she wasn’t lying, there would be time enough to deal with that later. “Where is my wife?” he said again, taking a step toward her.

Dagna shook her head. “I’m not telling you.”

“You don’t have to,” Anders said. “She’s in the Harrowing Chamber. I can feel her.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Because of the shared taint in your blood?” Dagna’s eyes were bright with interest as she looked up at Anders. “Can you tell me how that works?”

“You’re creepy.” 

“No one in this country has any respect for science,” Dagna said. “I thought I’d come here to the Circle and find scholars, people who understood the importance of knowledge. Instead, they’re all complaining about freedom and the Templars and being taken away from their families. None of you would last a day in Orzammar!”

“And your time in my Tower is over!” Anders shouted. He pushed his hands in front of him, the fingers crackling with energy … and just as suddenly, the energy was gone and Anders staggered back as though he had been hit.

“Please,” Dagna said pityingly. “All those nights with a Templar and you didn’t think I’d have had him teach me a holy smite? You’ll never reach her,” she said to Kylon as she tossed something small and round in front of her. It exploded at their feet. Kylon could hear Zev cursing as he moved through the resultant clouds of smoke. and Anders moaning and clutching his stomach. When the smoke cleared, Dagna was gone.

Zev said something bitter and angry to himself in Antivan.

“I should have known …” Anders said, his breath still coming short from the holy smite. “I’m not … going to be much use to you … now.” He looked apologetically at Kylon.

“Will you be all right?” Kylon couldn’t remember ever seeing holy smite used before—apostate mages usually avoided the market district.

Anders nodded. “No magic … for a while … Have to get … my breath back.”

“I do not believe we have time to wait,” Zev said, his mouth set in a grim line. “We should go see what that abominably clever dwarf has done to the Commander.”

“She can’t … cast spells. … Whatever traps she may have used … for the Harrowing Chamber door … are probably not magical.” Anders looked around at the empty hallway. “She seems to have … pretty much taken over … this floor, though. It’s possible … there aren’t any traps.”

“I do not believe we should rely on that.” 

Fear had Kylon’s heart racing. Try though he might to listen to his friends’ expert opinions, he couldn’t wait any longer. “We have to go. Now. You heard what the dwarf said; Judith may not have much time.”

“That way.” Anders pointed toward a set of stone steps leading up to a very solid door. It was just wood, but it looked formidable to Kylon, and he could imagine the fear young mages must have felt when approaching it.

Zev moved slowly, one step at a time, up the stairs toward the Harrowing Chamber. There were various clicks and snips as he disarmed traps, his focus absolute. Kylon, waiting at the bottom of the steps, strained his ears, listening for any sound from the room above, but all was silent. Anders remained where he was, the holy smite having sapped his strength.

At last, Zev reached for the doorknob. As he began to turn it, there was a sharp snap on the other side of the door. “Down!” Zev shouted, hurling himself down the steps. Kylon dove for the floor, covering his head, as the door splintered, shards of wood flying. Zev groaned loudly as a sharp-edged hunk of wood speared his thigh.

As the noise of the debris falling stopped, they cautiously began to look up. A green gas cloud billowed forth from the open doorway; Kylon rolled quickly away as it spread out, but Zev was immobilized by the wooden projectile in his leg. He held his breath as long as he could, hoping the cloud would dissipate, but at length he gasped, following by coughing and choking.

Kylon crouched, his muscles tense, waiting as the cloud began to dissipate. As soon as it appeared possible, he scrambled forward, grasping Zev by his outstretched arm and pulling him out of reach of the gas.  
“Zev? Zev, can you hear me?”

The assassin was dazed, his eyes clouded. He licked his lips, trying to speak, but all he could do was cough. Fumbling in his belt, he withdrew a vial, but his fingers couldn’t manage the cork. Kylon took it from him, uncorking it, and pouring it into Zev’s mouth. He was relieved to see the flush on Zev’s cheeks begin to fade as the antidote moved through the assassin’s system. Zev grasped the front of Kylon’s breastplate. “Go.”

Kylon didn’t wait to be told twice; he got to his feet, moving up the stairs and cautiously through the debris around the doorway. There were more steps inside—he was going to have to hope they weren’t trapped. He had a rudimentary knowledge of some of the more obvious trap types, but Dagna had already proved herself more than a match for Zev. Kylon had no illusions that he would be able to see any traps before he triggered them. He just had to hope he could get through.

As Kylon moved slowly up the steps, a small part of his mind quietly informed him what a bad sign it was that there was still no sound coming from the upper floor, even after the explosion. “Judith!” he called. “Judith, can you hear me? I’m coming, love!” There was no response.

At last he was at the top of the stairs. Daniel’s eyes moved immediately to the motionless figure strapped to a large slab of marble. Her disheveled blonde hair fell forward, obscuring her face. 

Another figure was in front of her; the little dwarf held a knife in her hand. It shone wickedly in the light. “Aw, you did come for her. She’d be so happy to know that.”

“Get away from her.”

“Do you really think you can get here before I can slit her throat?”

Panic, hot and electrifying, spread through him, but he knew that’s what Dagna was aiming for. Consciously, he relaxed his muscles. “You don’t want to do that. You need her for your experiments.” The last word came out thickly as his gorge rose. He didn’t want to think of her having harmed his wife, or about Judith’s utter stillness.

“Do I?” Dagna smiled.

Kylon cast around for something to say. He had to keep her talking, to distract her while he decided how to get across the room without letting her harm Judith. “You couldn’t have picked a more powerful mage,” he said, cautiously easing his weight forward.

“Not so fast!” The shiny knife disappeared behind the curtain of Judith’s hair, and Kylon froze. “Powerful she may be, but she was no help at all.” Dagna frowned. “I think I need to go to Tevinter. Someone there should be able to help with my research.”

“How can I help?” There was no help for it; he’d have to try throwing his dagger. The dwarf wasn’t wearing armor, but he hadn’t practiced with thrown blades in a long time, and he wouldn’t be able to prepare.

“Why would you do that?”

“To save my wife.” Mentally he went through the motions he would need. Grab the dagger, aim, throw. Just that fast.

“You love her that much? Lucky girl.” Something bitter and hard twisted Dagna’s face, and Kylon took the opening of her distraction to reach for the dagger. It slid smoothly out of its sheath, fitting perfectly into the palm of his hand. He aimed and released, pretending a confidence in the throw he didn’t feel.

Dagna’s mouth opened, her eyes caught by the glinting of the blade as it tumbled toward her, and then it had buried itself in her stomach. Kylon crossed the room in a rush, knocking Dagna away from his wife. He wrenched the knife from her hand. Blood was bubbling on the dwarf’s lips, and she muttered something unintelligible. Feeling no remorse—she was dying anyway—Kylon plunged the knife into the dwarf’s heart, watching as the intelligence faded from her eyes. When he was sure she was dead, he closed her eyelids before standing up and running to Judith. He was hardly aware of his feet moving as he crossed the room to her, gently taking her head in his hands and lifting it.

“Judith?”

There was no response, her body still hanging limp in its bonds.

“Judith.” Pushing the tangled hair aside, he softly kissed her lips. 

Her eyes blinked slowly before fluttering all the way open. They stared blankly at Daniel, and he remembered Dagna’s words with a shock of horror. What if she’d been right?

“D-Daniel?”

“Yes, love, I’m here,” he said with a rush of relief. Holding her with one arm, he clumsily worked the buckles of her restraints with the other. “I’m here,” he said again, cradling her tenderly as she fell forward into his embrace.


	43. Found

Anders took charge in the Tower, trying to explain to the confused and frightened mages what Dagna had been intending to do. Petra, in particular, was stunned by the extent of the dwarf’s treachery. As one of the most senior mages left in the Tower, and the one who had been closest to Dagna, Petra blamed herself for much of what had occurred, and the resulting guilt had her wringing her hands uselessly instead of putting her usually fearsome organizational skills to work. 

Kylon spent the next few days at Judith’s bedside. Dagna’s experiments had played havoc with Judith’s memory—her mind wandered through time, unable to retain a grasp on the present. She seemed to be reliving her entire life in bits and pieces. One minute she’d be six, and sobbing for her mother; another minute she was on top of Fort Drakon, fighting the Archdemon; then she’d be an adolescent, mouthing off to the absent Wynne. Physically, she was depleted of energy, with minor electrical burns and cuts where Dagna had bled her, but Anders assured Daniel the physical effects would heal with time and rest. The mental effects he was less certain about. It cut Daniel to the heart every time she didn’t recognize him, and in those moments he despaired of ever having her back to normal.

Zev spent much of his time closeted with Dagna’s journals, a spidery pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose, trying to decipher what exactly the dwarf had done to Judith.

Over the course of a few days, the Tower mages began to recover from the intense fear Dagna had instilled in them. Most of them had been entirely convinced that stepping outside the Tower was an invitation to be kidnapped and murdered; in many cases, they seemed to expect to be murdered in their beds high inside the Tower. It took all Anders’ considerable persuasive skill to convince them to go outside. Finbar assisted, as well, his open face and friendly eyes helping to convince the younger mages and the children that it was safe.

As the days went by, however, Judith’s condition seemed to get worse. More and more, her mind stayed locked in past experiences in the Tower, particularly the time she’d spent there after Uldred’s uprising.

“I think we should take her away from here,” Anders said, bending over her as she lay, tears flowing from beneath her closed eyelids. “Any thoughts as to where? In her condition, I don’t think she should travel too far.”

It was a relief just to have something to do; Daniel had never been much for sitting around and waiting. “Redcliffe seems the best place,” he said. “The castle holds bad memories as well, but Judith knows the innkeeper in the village, and it’s not far. We can go there.” Away from the Tower she would remember him—she had to. He didn’t think he could bear it if she didn’t.

They made their travel arrangements quickly—all of them were anxious to be on their way. A mage named Kinnon who seemed less traumatized than the rest promised to look out for things until the First Enchanter returned. A message had been sent to Irving in Denerim, and the First Enchanter was expected back within a few days.

The day after making the decision, they were off. Judith didn’t seem to recognize any of them, but she went with them willingly enough, glad to be seeing the last of the Tower. Kylon brought blankets to wrap her in, as it was chilly on the water with the approach of fall. All five of them sat on the deck of the boat, their faces turned up to the sun.

As the boat sailed away from the Tower, Judith grew increasingly restless, murmuring under her breath and leaning over the rail. Kylon stood next to her, close enough to catch her if she tried to throw herself overboard for some reason, but not so close as to make her feel crowded. She recognized him occasionally, but not all the time.

The water’s color changed, from the light green of the shallows to the dark blue of the deeps. When the portion of the boat she stood on crossed the color line, Judith drew in a sharp breath, her head snapping up. She looked around at the three men. “Zev? Anders? Finbar? What are you doing here?”

“We came to rescue you,” Anders said. He stepped closer to her, his big hands lightly touching her head, the faint blue shimmer of magic surrounding them. “Fascinating. Something about the Tower itself was affecting you.” He peered into Judith’s eyes, the friend lost in the clinician as he murmured to myself.

“Rescue me from what? What are you talking about?” Impatiently she pushed his hands away, turning to Kylon. “Daniel, is it my imagination, or are we now on a boat heading away from the Tower? We’re supposed to be on a boat going toward the Tower. And where did these three come from?”

“You don’t remember?”

Judith shook her head. Quickly, the men filled her in on the events of the past several days. Her eyes filled with tears as they told her of Dagna’s betrayal and death. “I should never have taken her from Orzammar. She … none of this would ever have happened.”

“You must not think that way,” Zev said. “I read her journals—Dagna was a woman of consuming ambition. She would have found a way out of Orzammar, whether you assisted her or not. Do not forget, I was with you when you first encountered her; her pretense of wide-eyed innocence fooled even myself, and I should have known better.”

“Thank you, all of you.” Judith hugged them all in turn before throwing herself into Daniel’s arms. She peeked at the others over his shoulder. “If you three wouldn’t mind?” They made themselves scarce, crossing to the other side of the boat.  
“My darling,” Daniel murmured, pulling her close. “I was so frightened for you.”

 

She clung to him. “I feel so … powerless, Daniel. Whatever Dagna did, it was like the Architect. Both of them inside my head, doing Maker knows what. How do I know what she might have left there?”

His arms tightened around her, but he had no comforting answers for her. Only time would tell, and he knew that response wasn’t going to appease her. She accepted his silence and the helplessness it came from and buried her face in his shoulder. They stood there, holding each other at the rail, for the rest of the journey to Redcliffe.

The boat docked, the five of them getting off and climbing the streets up to the inn. Judith appeared to have recovered completely, but Anders wanted to examine her more thoroughly, and all of them wanted a quiet night at the Redcliffe Inn before heading out again. Kylon excused himself to go check on the horses he and Judith had left in the stable before they left for the Tower, while the others went ahead to procure rooms and order a meal.

Judith, still feeling a bit weak, leaned on Zev’s shoulder as they climbed. Anders had fallen behind, and she could hear him teasing Finbar about something, while the younger man’s voice cracked in embarrassment. Some things hadn’t changed, she thought with a smile. She’d missed her Wardens, missed her job. Much as she loved Daniel, she couldn’t give up being Warden Commander. Not that he’d ever asked her to, but it seemed unspoken, that he thought their lives together would be so much easier if she didn’t have to be in Amaranthine all the time.

She put those thoughts aside as they entered the inn, blinking in the sudden dimness. A familiar figure was bending over a table, and Judith called out to her. “Bella!”

The former barmaid turned around, but the greeting died on her lips, her eyes widening and her face draining of color. 

Judith was startled by Bella’s distressed look; had the experience in the Tower changed something about her looks? None of the men had said so. She was already getting angry with them for not telling her the truth when she realized Bella wasn’t looking at her; the redheaded innkeeper was looking over Judith’s shoulder at someone behind her. Judith looked over her shoulder, too, seeing only Anders and Finbar, who had come in behind her, laughing. As she watched, Anders looked up, his gaze scanning the room.

His eyes were caught by Bella, as well, his face scrunching in puzzlement that was quickly replaced by disbelief. “Maker!” he breathed, moving toward the innkeeper.

Bella backed up until she came to a stop against the table, her eyes wide. Was she frightened of Anders? Judith couldn’t imagine someone being afraid of Anders, but Bella was clearly frightened of something.

“You’re here,” Anders said in a tone of wonder. “Have you been here all these years, right across the water?” He crossed the room toward Bella, who shrank from him.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have me mistaken for someone else.” But he didn’t, that much was obvious in the quaver in her voice and the panic in her eyes. “Please, leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Anders was staring down into her face, his eyes shining like Firstday morning. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you? You’re half the reason I escaped from the Tower so many times.”

“Escaped so many …” Bella gasped weakly. “How many times?”

“A lot. Most recently, I was conscripted by the Grey Wardens.”

“You’re a Warden? But you weren’t with the Commander when she saved Redcliffe.”

“No, I missed all the big fun of the Blight. Made it in time for the aftermath, though.” He shot a grin over his shoulder at Judith, who thought she was beginning to understand what was happening here. Anders looked back at Bella. “You don’t have to hide anymore, you know that, right?”

Bella swallowed hard, looking up at him, her green eyes softening. But before she could say anything, the door opened and Daniel walked in. He slipped an arm around Judith’s waist, squinting at Bella and Anders as his eyes adjusted to the change in light levels. “What’s going on?” he asked Judith.

Anders was the one who answered. He put his hands on Bella’s shoulders, gently but firmly steering her until she stood in front of Daniel. “Do you recognize her?”

Daniel studied Bella’s face, frowning. There was … something … vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He shook his head. “Should I?”

“I suppose it’s been a number of years. Daniel, it gives me great pleasure to reunite you with your sister. Melanie, meet your brother Daniel.”


	44. Explanations

After hugs and some tears and a lot of questions flying too fast to be answered, they settled down in Bella’s—Melanie’s—office. Finbar and Zev had remained in the tavern, wolfing down a generous meal, but Anders refused to be left behind or even to take his eyes off the red-headed woman. His gaze avidly followed her every move.

Daniel was utterly stunned. He and his mother had given up on the idea of ever seeing his sister again years ago, and even after Anders’s tale of her escape, Daniel had never really believed he would find her. He took the seat she indicated, and clung to Judith’s offered hand for dear life. It seemed like the only real thing in the fog that enveloped him. He peered at his sister’s face, trying to find her recognizable, but all he had was a five-year-old’s memory of red hair and tears as a young girl was dragged away by men in armor.

Judith squeezed his hand. “Bella—Melanie … er, which should it be?”

The red-head cleared her throat. “Uh … let’s go with Bella. It’s been my name for a long time. I’m not sure I would recognize myself as Melanie now.”

“All right, Bella, then,” Judith continued after the silence indicated that neither of the men was ready to do the talking. “What led you to stay in Redcliffe all this time, practically in sight of the Tower?”

Bella smiled for the first time. “How could I pass up the chance to be an apostate living free under the shadows of my former prison? It amused me.”

“That’s it?” Daniel asked, sitting forward. “For amusement?”

Her eyes dropped at the sharpness of his tone. “Well, not entirely. The people—Owen the blacksmith and Mayor Murdoch—were … kind … to me.”

Anders and Daniel fidgeted uncomfortably. It was clear neither of them wanted to contemplate the possible meanings of “kind” in this scenario.

“Lloyd wasn’t kind, I seem to recall. Why did you put up with him?” Judith asked.

“It was part of my disguise. The world sees apostates as dangerous individuals on the edge, who respond to any pressure by turning into a blood mage or an abomination.” Anders murmured his assent. “If I was willing to put up with Lloyd and how he treated me, clearly I must not be an apostate.” Bella shrugged. “It worked.”

“Did you never think to contact us? Mother and me?”

“And have you arrested as accomplices? Risk being caught myself? It’s the first place they’d have looked for me. Besides …” It was nearly a whisper, spoken looking down at her hands. “How could I know you wanted me back? They tell you … things … in the Tower about your family, about what outsiders think.”

“You couldn’t have believed that of us!”

“When someone tells you something often enough, and you have only your memories to contradict them … I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“We never stopped hoping that we’d be able to contact you someday. When Anders told me you had escaped, I thought sure, with the Blight over, you would come, if you still lived—didn’t you know my wife is a mage? How could I marry a mage and not welcome you with open arms?” Daniel asked.

Bella twisted her hands together. “I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s been so long since I thought of myself as Melanie Kylon … I didn’t know what I would do with myself if I acknowledged that identity again. It seemed … easier, not to.”

“But you asked all those questions when we came through before,” Judith put in. “About my husband and if my being a mage bothered him.”

“Of course I did! I wanted to know, didn’t I?” Bella snapped. “Didn’t make it any less scary, though.”

“Why not?”

“I thought you’d be angry,” she said, looking up at her brother. 

“I’m not.” They looked at each other for a moment, and Daniel smiled. “It’s been a long time.”

“You grew up.” Everyone laughed at that. “How is Mother?” Bella asked.

“Good. She got remarried. He’s a butcher. They live in Highever. He treats her well; she seems happy. She’ll be even happier if I can bring you to her,” Daniel finished, the end of the sentence rising in question.

Bella nodded. “Yes. I’d like that.”

Judith yawned, quickly covering her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, love, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Daniel said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You must be exhausted.”

Anders had risen, his clinical face on as he examined her. “Why don’t you go get some rest,” he said, his tone making it an order.

“That does sound good,” Judith admitted. She let Daniel help her get up. 

Clearing his throat, Anders said, “Daniel, why don’t you take her upstairs and get her settled?”

“But—“ Daniel looked at his sister, and his wife, and back at Anders.

Judith might be tired, but she wasn’t an idiot. It was clear from Anders’s face that he wanted some time alone with Bella. She elbowed her husband in the ribs.

“Oh. Right,” Daniel said in a completely unsubtle tone. “Why don’t I take Judith upstairs?”

Anders gave a quiet groan, shaking his head, but Bella’s eyes were twinkling. Judith cast a glance over her shoulder as the door closed behind her and saw Bella’s hands close around Anders’s upper arms, the red-head’s happy face turned up to the mage’s. She wondered how Anders would be to have as a brother-in-law. 

In their room, Daniel turned the covers down, helping Judith into a nightgown and tucking her in, but his movements were mechanical, his eyes far away.

“Are you all right?” Judith asked, snuggling into the bed. 

“It’s just so unexpected,” he said, sitting down next to her. “When I woke up this morning, I was worried that you were never going to get your memory back, that I’d spend the rest of my life chasing you around your past. Now I have you back, and my own past has caught up with me.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I used to dream of going to the Tower and demanding my sister back. Little boy stuff, you know, how I’d cow them with my heroics. It’s one of the reasons I ended up in the Guards, because I’d become so obsessed with weaponry and fighting for the things that are important. But in all the focus on getting her back, I’d forgotten who she was, you know what I mean? What she looked like, and how she used to tease me, and the little tune she hummed when she put me to bed.”

Judith couldn’t help picturing him as a young boy, wide-eyed and innocent, falling asleep to his sister’s voice. She felt a pang, thinking how nice it would be for them to have a little boy, maybe one who looked like him, to tuck into bed. For the first time, she understood what it must be like for Daniel to contemplate a life without children, and she reached for him, pulling him close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For all of it.”

Daniel leaned his head against her shoulder. “It isn’t your fault,” he said in some surprise, and she realized he hadn’t followed her thoughts from the past into the future that could never be.

“That doesn’t stop me from wishing things could be different.”

“I suppose we just have to make them different,” he said.

Judith stiffened. “Different how?”

He sat up, looking her in the eye. “For starters, no more of this homes so far apart thing.”

“I knew it!”

“Knew what?” 

“That you’d want me to step down as Warden Commander.”

Daniel flushed. “Perhaps I wish you would,” he admitted. “But no more than you might wish I would step down as Arl of Denerim, and I know how I’d feel if you suggested such a thing.”

“So you’re not saying you think I should step down?”

“Of course not. But do you have to be based in Amaranthine? Couldn’t you be Warden Commander and command a cell in Denerim, leaving lieutenants to run Amaranthine?”

Judith’s first reaction was negative; she wanted to yell at him for telling her how to do her job. But of course, he was right. The Warden Commander could, and should, work from all over Ferelden, and it made sense that her home base should be the capital city. Nor could she ask Daniel to move, since his Arling was the city. She nodded, and Daniel looked surprised and pleased. “You’re right. I’ll look into it, see if I can make that work. I don’t want us to be apart anymore.”

Daniel’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her, and she basked in the warmth and comfort of being here in his embrace. 

“I love you, Daniel.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed her, softly and tenderly. When it ended, Daniel was stretched out with her on the bed—she had no memory of having moved. She pressed more closely against him, feeling a weakness in her limbs that had nothing to do with her exhausting experiences in the Tower and everything to do with the handsome man lying next to her. “Mm,” Daniel said, nuzzling her ear. “Do you think we’d get in trouble with Anders if I, um, got undressed? You know, to keep you warm?”

“I can’t imagine he would object. Wouldn’t want me catching a chill.” Judith’s heart was pounding in her ears as Daniel’s hand pushed down the top of her nightgown, finding her breast and caressing it.

“By all means, no,” he said, chuckling. He kissed along the edge of her jaw, his hands busy underneath her gown. Judith’s hands moved over his broad shoulders and down his back to where his shirt was tucked into his trousers, pulling it out so she could run her hands over the muscles that rippled beneath it. She pushed at the shirt until Daniel sat up and drew it off over his head. She pushed the nightgown over her shoulders, wriggling to take it completely off. “My lovely bride,” Daniel murmured, bending to take one of her nipples in his mouth. Judith bit her lip as he suckled, heat spreading through her body. 

He kissed his way up over her collarbone while his hands moved down over her stomach. She closed her eyes as he caressed the outside of her thighs and up over her hips and stomach. His mouth made contact with the sensitive flesh of her belly, the muscles quivering beneath the soft touches of his tongue. Daniel’s hands closed over her breasts, massaging tenderly. Judith shifted beneath him, moving to press herself against him as he moved over her. He seemed to determine to explore every inch of her, and she could do little but moan and sigh as the heat he kindled inside her spread throughout her body. It felt as though her very hair were on fire.

His mouth was on her center now, his fingers finding their way inside her as she cried out. The feeling was indescribable, but it wasn’t enough. Licking her lips, she managed to gasp his name.

“Yes, dearest?” His voice was raspy with passion.

“Please, Daniel, I need you.”

The time it took him to finish undressing and return to the bed seemed forever as she lay shivering without his warmth. At last he was back, his naked body against hers, her legs parting for him.

Their eyes met and held as he entered her and began to move. To Judith, it felt like their marriage was just beginning, as if their vows were newly spoken. Now that they understood, if not each other, at least how to speak to one another, it was a new beginning, and one she had never truly embraced before. She clung to him. “I love you, Daniel!”

Her words sent him over the edge, shuddering against her, and she followed, calling his name again and again. 

Daniel drew her close, cradling her in his arms. “I love you, Judith.”  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alistair put his arm around Anora, massaging her lower back. “Does that feel better now?”

She nodded. “Much. Thank you.” 

It was probably one of the last fine days the autumn would bring them before winter closed in, grey and dreary. But by the time the spring came, they would have their child, he thought happily. 

“What are you smiling about?” Anora asked.

“Baby. And springtime.”

“Both a long time away,” she said wearily, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

“You’re beautiful, have I told you that today?”

She smiled. “You might have. It doesn’t hurt to repeat it.”

His next sally would have been both witty and tender, had he been allowed to make it, but he felt the tug of the taint in his blood. Was it his imagination, or did a shadow cross the sun? He looked up to see his father-in-law approaching. 

Loghain’s eyes were on Anora. He could barely stand to look at her husband, the next in the line of cheating Theirins. “You look well,” he said as she rose to meet him.

“Just tired, Father. The child takes a lot of my energy.” She smiled at the boy next to her. “But Alistair takes good care of me.”

“Does he.” Loghain cleared his throat, looking at Alistair’s throat to avoid meeting the boy’s eyes. “I assume you are aware of what the Templars were doing.”

“Yes, and we’ve been filled in on Dagna’s role. Irving has returned to the Tower by now. Poor mages.”

“Poor mages indeed. You should have seen what they were doing to them.” Loghain felt outrage burning in his chest, remembering the condition Velanna had been in when they found her, and Morrigan. The thought of the witch, now waiting for him at a campsite outside Denerim, set his blood to boiling. Her ardor had not diminished, and startlingly, neither had his. Outside the tent, he found her a restful companion—they each enjoyed their space and their privacy and appreciated the other’s dry wit. Loghain’s skills complemented Morrigan’s well, in battle and in camp. The other Wardens had put up some argument when he and Morrigan had parted ways from them, but Loghain had at last convinced the rest of the group to return to Amaranthine while he and Morrigan went on to Denerim. Well, less convinced than stated his intention and stood unmoving while they argued. 

“I’ve heard. But you were there, weren’t you?”

“I was. As was a mage I believe you’re familiar with. Morrigan.”

And there it was, all the proof Loghain needed written across the boy’s red face. “Morrigan,” he said with obviously forced casualness. “Is she … well?”

“Glowing,” Loghain said, unable to completely keep the spite out of his voice.

“Father?” Anora’s eyes moved from her father’s face to her husband’s.

“Anora, look at the time,” the boy said, glancing up into the sky. “I believe you’re supposed to be resting now, aren’t you?”

“Don’t duck the question, Alistair.” Anora’s tone was sharp, and Loghain felt for her, saddled with yet another philandering husband. He made no attempt to help the bastard out of this hole.

“Did you meet Morrigan? I can’t remember,” the whelp said. “She’s very unpleasant. Didn’t like me at all, and vice versa. But Judith liked her. At any rate, I should really get your father’s thoughts on this mage and templar situation, and you really do need to take your afternoon rest. Wynne was insistent about it.”

“Very well,” Anora snapped.

“I’ll walk you to your room. Perhaps we could have a brandy in my office?” he asked, looking at Loghain.

“With pleasure,” Loghain said.

They met in the boy’s office about fifteen minutes later. Alistair poured the brandy, handing Loghain a snifter, and sat down across from him. Neither spoke for a minute, sizing each other up.

The boy broke first, of course. If he’d been able to go any longer without talking, Loghain would have had to doubt his Theirin lineage. “I take it you and Morrigan have talked.”

“You could say that.” Loghain wasn’t certain how much he wanted to reveal of their relationship. It seemed too private to gloat over, and yet … something in him wanted the boy to know that Loghain had conquered what the boy had clearly not.

“And you are aware of her … condition?” The boy’s voice rose to a squeak on the last word.

“Yes. And who is responsible for it.”

“She told you?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Ah.” The boy relaxed, no doubt because Loghain’s suspicions had no proof. 

“But I know all about it. And about you.”

“I doubt that.” 

“You think it isn’t obvious? You’re like all the other Theirins before you, making charming promises to woman after woman, while your eye is always wandering, looking for something more … exotic.”

“Is that what you think?” There was no more nervousness in the boy’s voice. He was angry now, leaning forward. “Of course that’s what you think.” Alistair frowned, looking conflicted. “You’re a Grey Warden now, little as I wanted that, so I’m going to tell you something that very few people know.”

“That you’re hardly the charming young Chantry innocent you pretend to be?” Loghain sneered.

“No. What really happened when the Archdemon died.”

The Archdemon? Loghain blinked. “I thought your friend the Commander slew him. Or was she one of your conquests as well?”

Alistair’s fist clenched. “Don’t you dare. That woman is the closest thing to family I’ve ever had, since your dear friend Maric didn’t see fit to have anything to do with me. And if it hadn’t been for her … none of this would have happened.”

Loghain was mystified, not that he was willing to admit to such a thing. “Tell me.”

“As you know, Judith and I were both new to the Wardens when … Ostagar happened.” The boy swallowed his bitterness with obvious distaste, moving on. “There was much about Grey Wardens and Blights that we didn’t know. One thing, which Riordan explained to us before Judith left for Redcliffe, is that in order for the Archdemon to truly die, it must be killed by a Grey Warden. When its vessel dies, the Archdemon’s soul is drawn to the nearest tainted creature. If that creature is a darkspawn, the Archdemon grows again, and the Blight doesn’t stop. If that creature is a Grey Warden, the humanity in the Grey Warden’s soul kills the Archdemon, but the Grey Warden is also destroyed.”

Loghain’s jaw dropped. 

“Exactly.” Alistair nodded in grim amusement at Loghain’s expression. “So you can imagine how we felt—I was to be King, which wouldn’t really happen if I died, and Judith … well, Judith and Daniel … She found herself for, I think, the first time in her life, really wanting to live. Riordan was willing to try, but I think we all knew he wasn’t exactly in peak fighting condition.” He sighed, leaning back in the chair. “So that’s where things stood when Judith left for Redcliffe. You’ll remember that she left me and Daniel behind, and that Morrigan insisted on being left behind as well.”

“No doubt you were pleased about that.”

The boy snorted. “Hardly. You can’t have spent much time with Morrigan and not picked up on the fact that she hates me. And, I assure you, the feeling is quite mutual. No, Morrigan’s interest in me was of a very different nature.” His eyes sought Loghain’s, the merry light in them stilled and dark. “This part does not go beyond this room. You aren’t to speak of it to other Wardens, to Anora, or to anyone else who isn’t me, Judith, or Daniel. Or Morrigan, I suppose, if she isn’t long gone by now.”

“A select group.” Loghain wondered, not for the first time, if Morrigan really would be waiting for him. He squelched an urge to shift in his seat.

“A private group. But as I suspect you’re thinking all the wrong things about me, I am prepared to add you to that group. If what I am about to tell you goes beyond this room, it could cause problems with the succession and possibly another civil war. Also, Daniel and Judith and I, and Morrigan if they can find her, are likely to be burnt at the stake by the Chantry.”

Loghain sat back, crossing his ankle over his knee. “I’ll give you this, boy, you surprise me. And you seem to have a talent for getting yourself in trouble that surpasses even your father’s. Let’s see if your talent for lying your way out of a situation is as great as his, as well.”

“I’m not lying.” 

“If you say so.”

Alistair sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll tell you, and then you can decide what to believe. When Judith had left for Redcliffe, Morrigan approached Daniel. She knew how they felt about each other, we all did, and guessed correctly that he would be the easiest to convince. She revealed to him that she’d been sent with us by Flemeth to perform a ritual before the Archdemon was killed. She would have to … lie with a Grey Warden, who would get her with child. The child would be tainted, and the taint would draw the Archdemon’s soul. But because the child would be so new, the Archdemon’s soul would be cleansed. In short, the child she carried would contain the essence of the old god.”

“Preposterous.” Loghain said the word deliberately, but he felt a frisson of electricity up his spine. What if it wasn’t preposterous? The fey young woman who waited for him—or did she?—was perfectly equal to creating such a being, and would certainly think herself equal to the task of raising it.

“That would have been my reaction. Along with expressions of disgust at the idea of bedding Morrigan. It had to be me, you see, since Riordan had been tainted too long.”

“And the fact that her child would have Theirin blood made no difference, I suppose.”

“It didn’t seem to. Morrigan is one of the few people I’ve ever met who is completely unimpressed by my bloodline. It’s a rare point in her favor,” Alistair said. “At any rate, she managed to convince Daniel, who then came to me.” He winced, as if at the memory. “I … took a lot of convincing. I don’t trust Morrigan, and I certainly don’t trust her magic. Nor did I want an old god child with a claim to the throne running around loose.”

“Obviously you went through with it, since you and the Commander are still alive.”

“What would you have done? My friend was pleading with me for the life of the woman he loved, a woman who is very important to me as well; and my only alternative was to die myself, leaving my country without a king. Yes, I know,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall Loghain’s objections, “it would have had a queen. But I barely knew Anora at the time, and you have to admit, her claim to the throne was tenuous. There would have been further unrest. But the long and the short of it is that, as you say, obviously I went through with it. I fathered the child Morrigan is carrying, but not through any desire to do so. I will not claim it, I have no rights to it, and Morrigan has made it clear that I probably will never lay eyes on it.”

Loghain studied the young man across from him. It was a ridiculous story, almost unbelievable. Unless you knew Morrigan. If any person could accomplish such a deed, she could. “Where does she intend to go?”

“She didn’t say. I admit, I didn’t ask. I’d be happy to be rid of her, if I could be sure she and the child wouldn’t come back to cause further problems.” Alistair took a deep breath. “So. Now you know. What are you going to do about it? Tell my wife? Hold the knowledge over my head and make the inevitable time we have to spend together even more miserable?”

What was he going to do? Nothing about this story was what he had expected. In truth, nothing that had happened since he became a Grey Warden was what he expected. But what came out when he opened his mouth surprised both of them. “I’m going to go with her.”

“With who?” Alistair looked confused, and then the light dawned, his eyes growing as big and round as saucers. “With … Morrigan? You—and Morrigan?”

Loghain couldn’t keep the arrogance out of his eyes. Admittedly, didn’t try very hard. He wanted Maric’s bastard to know that Loghain, old and repugnant as he might seem to the boy, was more than capable of satisfying a woman as passionate and exotic as Morrigan.

Alistair sat back against the chair, shaking his head. “Well, this is about the last conversation I expected to be having when I got up this morning. You and Morrigan. I suppose it fits, in a totally unexpected way. And you want to go with her? Where?”

He was thinking fast now, his brain clearer than it had been in … years, maybe. “Away. Far away, where her child can’t be a threat to Ferelden, where whatever manifests itself of the old god can hurt no one.”

“And the darkspawn? They might come after the child.”

“I am a Grey Warden now, as you pointed out. I’ve been fighting for a long time—it’s all I really know how to do. I can fight for her. For them.”

“Do you think she’ll let you go with her?”

The other man’s face looked doubtful, incredulous, but Loghain found that he believed. “Yes. I think she will.”

“Well, then.” Alistair stood up, indicating the end of the conversation. “May the Maker watch over you.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
It was late in the day, nearly dark, when Loghain returned to the little camp in the woods. He’d spent most of the day with his daughter, trying to explain to her why he felt the need to run off with an apostate who, by all accounts, was younger than Anora. He thought he had dropped a bit in his daughter’s estimation, but he had risen in his son-in-law’s, so perhaps it all evened out in the end. Either way, he had said his good-byes, and he felt more confident than he ever had before about his daughter’s future, and about Ferelden’s.

His own future was a little more questionable. While he believed she would be there, part of him wondered. Would she have simply disappeared like a wisp of smoke floating away on the breeze? 

But the smoke he saw was that of a campfire; he smelled the roasting meat and the burning wood; and she smiled at him from where she knelt.

“’Twas a longer day than you anticipated.”

“I had to listen to a long fairy tale, about old gods and dark rituals on the eve of battle.”

She glanced up at him, startled, then relaxed. “And yet you return, knowing … all.”

“Yes. And I won’t be going back.”

“Do I not get a say in this decision, then?” She stood up, coming toward him, her hips swaying. He could see the rounding of her belly beneath the loose top.

He put his arms around her, pulling her against him, his mouth finding her soft lips. “Tell me to go, then, if you wish it,” he growled against her mouth.

“By all means, stay if it pleases you,” she said, rather breathlessly. “I would not presume to command you.”

“As long as we both know who’s in charge.” He thought it was possible she may have smiled at that, but it was hard to tell while he was kissing her.


	45. Firstday

Firstday dawned. In Ferelden, the skies were overcast, snowflakes beginning to drift gently across the landscape, covering the the scars of the Blight, sending a hush over the nation from the northern Coastlands all the way down to where the edge of the Korcari Wilds disappeared in the mist.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Far to the north, it was warm and sunny. Loghain exited the small cabin, looking bemused. “I have never experienced a Firstday without snow.”

“You make no mention of the lack of cold. ‘Tis something I am pleased to become accustomed to.” She was stirring a pot of something fruity and sweet over a small fire—they found it more convenient to cook outside, at least until he managed to add on to the cabin. Morrigan straightened, pressing a hand to her back. The child was heavy within her, swelling her belly and weighting down her movements. They estimated nine more weeks until they could see what her ritual had brought into the world.

Loghain found himself excited to contemplate the child. He’d spent little enough time with Anora when she was small—too occupied with matters of consequence, too much of a stranger in his own house, too busy babysitting Maric and Maric’s child. This time around, with the taint surging in his veins, seemed like a second youth. He’d never thought to leave Ferelden’s borders, but here in this strange, wild country he was free to simply be happy. It was an odd feeling, but one he was growing to like.

“I don’t know,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at Morrigan. “Cold weather gives a good excuse to huddle under the blankets and keep warm.”

“You do that quite often enough,” she said, but her voice lifted in amusement and she smiled at him. “Shall we breakfast and then have a cooling swim in the river?”

“As you like.” He accepted the plate she handed him, tasting the foreign concoction with gusto and with no further musings on the strange new life he had chosen for himself. He was too busy living it to dissect it.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Snowflakes drifted across the Waking Sea. Alfstanna, warmly wrapped in a thick robe, stepped out onto her balcony, breathing the chill air in with a blissful sigh.

“You love this, don’t you?” 

She didn’t turn, simply smiled when a warm arm slipped around her waist, pulling her back against his broad chest. “Yes. It’s always been my favorite time of year.”

Teagan pushed her hair aside, kissing her neck. “How long do you think we should wait to tell everyone we’ve been married?”

“Why tell them? Let’s just go on as we’ve been doing and let them all guess. Think of the looks we’ll get.” She laid her hand on the faint rounding of her stomach, grinning.

“Minx.” He leaned his head against hers, and they stood, simply enjoying each other and the snow.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“We return our Sister to you, Andraste. Receive her with grace, and with forgiveness.” 

The priests lit the pyre, the flames licking greedily along the oiled wood. Varel stood back, watching impassively. Rylock had survived the Joining, but not by long. Her body had been too damaged already to survive the effects of the taint, and now she would go to greet the Maker.

He turned, facing the small group of Wardens huddled in the cold. “You may return to the keep. The Firstday feast will be held at midday.” He liked to have funerals in the early morning, with the rest of the day for recovery. 

The recruiting trip had been successful—several more Wardens had been added to their mix. Young Finbar, promoted to Senior Warden due to the good fortune of being the only one to survive the original attack on the keep, had been given the task of keeping an eye on the new recruits. His honest young face and open friendliness were just what these new people needed.

Varel sighed. Much to do today. Celebrations were all well and good, but they were a considerable amount of work.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
On their way back into the keep, Oghren slipped an arm around Shianni’s waist. This put his face on the same level as her pert little breasts. Having grown used to this delightful bonus, Oghren never intended to be with another dwarf woman again. “’Ey, bronto. What say we go back to bed?”

Shianni grinned. “Not tired of me yet?”

“Do I get tired of ale? Of meat? Of sodding breathing?”

“That’s sweet, Grenny.”

The bed was neatly made, an unusual enough circumstance that Shianni stopped in the doorway to make sure they were in the right room.

“Go ahead, turn down the covers.” Oghren waited nervously in the doorway as she did so. 

Spread out on the bed was a flame-red silken scrap of fabric that the seamstress had called a “peignoir”. And gleaming atop the silk was a small gold ring, the facets of the diamond set in it winking in the morning sunlight that streamed in through the window.

“Grenny?” Shianni’s voice shook as she turned to him.

“Aye. Shianni, will ya marry me?”

She threw herself into his arms, and he could feel her body shaking as she cried. “Yes, Grenny, yes!”

As she began kissing him, showing her thanks in the language they were both far more comfortable with than words, Oghren reflected how much nicer this was than the stiff formality of his arranged engagement to Branka. He’d come a long way since the Warden had found him, drunk in his own vomit in Tapsters, and didn’t regret a step of it.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Nathaniel! Nathaniel!” Where was that shem—er, human? He’d left her a note this morning asking her to meet him in the woods near the keep, but he was nowhere to be found, drat him. She reached out with her magic, but the forest giggled and hid its secrets from her today. Even the trees had fallen victim to the man’s charm, she thought, but with a faint smile. Much as she had never imagined a human becoming this important to her, she had to admit that her feelings for him went beyond the physical desires he satisfied so thoroughly. “Nathaniel!”

“Here, my lady.” 

She followed the sound of his voice, and found him in a small clearing next to a beautiful small fir tree, with a pile of supplies next to him. “What are you about?”

“I thought it would be nice to decorate the tree together.”

“How did you know of our custom?” The elves liked to decorate a forest tree with forage on Firsday, to help the animals make it through the winter. 

“I … read your book.”

“My book? You looked in it without asking me?” Her eyes widened in outrage. She was using the book the Commander had given her to write down Dalish lore, that it would not be forgotten.

He nodded. “I am sorry to have read it without your permission. I was tidying up and I found it where you had … left it.” Velanna’s ears pinkened. She knew what day she had left the book behind, and what they had done that had made her forget about it. “I meant to briefly glance, but I found myself caught up in the writing, and I enjoyed the opportunity to know you and your world better. May I be forgiven?”

“I … suppose.” In truth, she was touched that he had cared enough to read her tales, and even more so that he had remembered and chosen to celebrate her way rather than with the raucous drunken crowd at Vigil’s Keep. “Thank you.”

“For you, my lady, anything.” He came toward her, enfolding her in his arms, and Velanna lifted her face for his kiss.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The man called Rook stepped out of the inn, looking up into the sky and letting the snow fall on his face. It was a good day to be out and about—lots to learn on days like this, because anyone who was out on a snowy holiday was out for a reason. There would be coin to be made today, he thought, smiling.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Little Ayesleigh ran, laughing, to the door, ducking under her mother’s arm to be caught up in Fergus’s embrace. “Very soon, little one,” he whispered into her hair, “you and Mama will be coming to live with me at the castle.”

She couldn’t wait. Her room had been pointed out to her, and there were horses and puppies and servants’ children to play with; all of Mama’s family would be coming to visit often. Ayesleigh had never met her father, who had been a brave Grey Warden and died saving everyone, according to her mother, but she knew he would have approved of her new papa, who had made Mama laugh again and who looked at Mama so lovingly. 

“Now,” said her Papa-to-be, patting the pockets of his big coat, “what have we here?” And he produced the most amazing doll Ayesleigh had ever seen, so tiny and so perfect, with such a beautiful dress.

“Fergus, you shouldn’t have,” Mama whispered.

“Now, Helena, she’s going to be spoiled right and left soon—we might as well be the first.” He smiled down at Ayesleigh. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you!” She hugged him tight, and then he put her down and patted her on the back. 

“Run along and play now, while I talk to your soon-Papa,” her mother said, and she did, blissfully losing herself in a pretend world where her beautiful doll fought all her enemies off with magic, just like the Hero of Ferelden. Behind her, Papa and Mama smiled and kissed each other.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Anders reached across the bed, starting awake when he found it empty. He raised his head, finding Bella across the room, getting dressed. “Come back to bed.”

“Some of us have a business to run. And you have Grey Wardens to get back to.”

“On Firstday?” He rolled over, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “And you don’t have to run a business anymore. You’re a mage.”

“I’m an innkeeper, Anders. That’s my choice.”

“But you are a mage. You can’t deny that!” He sat up in bed, blinking at her. It was too early in the morning for a philosophical argument, but they appeared to be having it anyway.

“No, and perhaps I no longer need to. But I’m happy here! I’ve worked toward my place here in the village for years.” She came and sat next to him on the bed, her eyes on his. “Don’t you see, Anders, maybe this is why I was meant to be here all along—if we want to convince non-mages to accept us as a part of the world, we have to be willing to be part of the world. To be innkeepers and lumberjacks and farm laborers, just like everyone else, instead of assuming that our magic makes us above all that.”

“I didn’t mean above … exactly,” he said, flushing guiltily as he realized that he had kind of meant that. 

“Even if above isn’t the right word, we’re still underscoring our own separateness if we insist on only doing mage things, or on not getting our hands dirty.”

“So … you’re staying?”

“Yes.”

“I could stay with you.”

She sighed and got up from the bed. “Anders, that’s not necessary. You should go back to the Grey Wardens. They need you.”

“Possibly. And you don’t? No, of course you don’t.” He got out of bed, his hands closing on her shoulders. “I’d like to stay—with you.”

Bella looked up at him. “Anders, surely you could find someone—“

“You don’t think I’ve tried? I’ve dallied with every woman I could get my hands on, and some men, too, and none of them were right. None of them were you. Please, Mel—Bella, don’t send me away without giving us a chance.” 

“I—“

“Unless you don’t want me. Did you not think of me, all these years?”

“I did. I just never thought I’d revisit that life again, that person. And now with my mother … Later this month, when the inn is quiet, I’ll have to go to Highever and see her, and I’m … a little scared.”

“Then let me stay with you until then. I’ll go to Highever with you, see you safely to your mother’s, and I’ll go back to Amaranthine—or I’ll work something out with the Commander and come back here with you, if you’ll have me. I’m sure the Grey Wardens could use a base in southern Ferelden.”

“Anders …” She reached up, tracing his stubbled cheek with her finger. “You’re incorrigible, do you know that?”

He grinned, taking it for the “yes” it was. “I do try, my lady.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Zev folded his arms, stamping in the cold. He could not deny that the snow was beautiful, filtering down through the trees and forming a lacy white covering on the ground. But the cold reached deep into his bones, freezing him in places he had not known he possessed. It had to be the cold; he, Zevran Arainai, could not be feeling such a depth of despondency over a lover. Such a thing was not possible.

“You didn’t need to accompany me, you know,” Riordan said. The Warden seemed almost rejuvenated now that the time had finally come. He had tried to sneak away this morning, to make his way to the Deep Roads entrance in the Knotwood Hills alone, but Zev had been alert, watching for the moment.

“I have told you many times that I will not let you set off into the dark without someone to watch you go.”

“What difference does it make? The dark is still the dark.”

“Not if you carry the light inside.” Zev would have blushed, if he were capable of such a thing, at the ridiculous romance inherent in his own words.

Riordan glanced at him in surprise. “That is a generous idea. And comforting.” He stopped at the top of the rickety stairs that led deep into the earth. “This is as far as you go, my friend. Thank you.”

“For coming along?”

“For bringing me back from the edge of a greater darkness than the one I now face.” Riordan took Zev’s face in his hands. “Take care of yourself.”

“I know no other way. I would say the same to you, but that is not the point, correct?”

“Wish me many darkspawn.”

“As many as you can slay. What is it Oghren says? 'Attrast nal tunsha'? May you always find your way in the dark.”

“And you,” Riordan whispered huskily, his lips claiming Zev’s for a last sweet kiss. He started to say something more, thought better of it, then grinned and waved before turning to make his way down the steps.

Zev stood in the cold and watched until the other man had disappeared. Then he reached for the pack he had set on the ground and turned his steps north, toward the coast. He needed a ship, one that would take him far away from this frozen country and its gallant and strangely touching people.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Ta-da!” Alistair maneuvered the tray through the door, kicking it shut behind him. The movement caused the tall glass of orange juice to totter, and he froze in place, waiting to see if it would fall. Mercifully, it didn’t, and he cast a sheepish but triumphant grin at Anora. 

She laughed, shifting herself carefully upward in the bed. The baby’s increasing weight and the resultant expanding girth were putting pressure on Anora’s hips, and moving in bed was particularly painful. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Oh, but that’s half the fun. The best surprises are the ones you didn’t have to do.” He brought the tray over, putting it down on the little table next to the bed. “May I serve you, my Queen?”

“You may, my King.”

It was a small breakfast—the child’s growth was encroaching on Anora’s stomach, enforcing the need for many small meals as opposed to a few larger ones—and Alistair insisted on feeding it to her, however foolishly, bite by bite. Anora was perfectly capable of feeding herself, and in truth might have found Alistair’s attempt rather annoying, if it weren’t for the undeniable fact that Cailan would never have considered doing something so sweet. She had grown to respect Alistair in his own right over the course of their brief marriage, yet she still appreciated the ways in which he was better than her previous husband. Not that she hadn’t cared for Cailan, overgrown puppy that he was, but Alistair somehow … he had a sweetness that was impossible to resist. She smiled at him, her heart filled with this thought, as he carefully cleared away the dishes. This time he did knock over the orange juice glass, but at least it was empty.

He came back and sat next to the bed, taking her hand in his. Anora tried not to notice how swollen her normally dainty fingers looked.

Alistair cleared his throat. “Anora, I wanted to say how much I appreciate your patience, and the friendship and kindness you have shown me. I’m a bumbling fool when it comes to noble life, and even more so where politics are concerned—“

“Not true,” she interrupted earnestly. “Your approach is an unusual one, and shocking to many who prize protocol above good sense, but you have practical ideas and you understand people. Most importantly, you understand your people, and you fight for what they deserve. You’re doing fine, Alistair.”

He blushed, looking down at his feet. “I’m glad you think so. Anora, over the last few months I’ve done a lot of thinking, and …”

Her heart sank as he paused. Was this the moment when he would tell her that his heart still belonged to the woman who had died fighting the Archdemon?

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.” His clear brown eyes were startlingly vulnerable on hers. 

Anora’s mouth dropped open. Surprise made her slow to respond, and the sweet, hopeful expression in his eyes faded. 

“I understand if you … would rather I didn’t say …” he continued uncomfortably, but stopped when her hand touched his cheek.

“I love you, too.” 

“You do? Since— I mean, why? Um, I mean …”

“Alistair.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Stop talking.” To underscore her point, she tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer so she could kiss him. It was awkward being intimate with her giant belly in the way, but Alistair had proved remarkably adaptive in that area.

Later, they lay spooned in the bed together, watching the snowflakes fall outside the window. Alistair’s hand rested on her stomach, and he laughed as the baby gave a strong kick. “Settle down, little one,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of time to disrupt us in bed once you’re born.”

Anora cleared her throat. “Isn’t that what we have nursemaids for?”

“You’re right! I knew there were things I liked about being King!” Alistair kissed the back of her neck. “So we’re all set that if it’s a boy, we’re naming him Calenhad?”

“Yes. But not if you’re going to insist on nicknaming him Lenny.”

“We can’t go having him get a swelled head with that grand name.” She felt his lips move along her bare shoulder, and she shivered, despite knowing he was just trying to soften her up before broaching the more controversial name topic. “Are you sure you won’t budge on the girl’s name? Judith would be very appropriate.”

“I have always wanted to name a daughter after my mother. And Princess Celia is a lovely name.”

“Too many ‘s’ sounds. Princess Judith is much nicer.”

She took his hand in hers, bringing it more firmly around her. “Maybe we’ll just have to hope for a boy.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. He nuzzled her neck again, sighing in contentment, and they were quiet for a few minutes before he suddenly pushed himself up on his elbow. “I have it!”

“What?”

“We’ll name her Julia.” When Anora was silent, he went on. “Get it? Judith, plus Celia. Julia. And Princess Julia takes away that whole ‘s’ thing.”

It had a ring to it, Anora had to admit. “Julia Theirin. It has promise.” 

The name wasn’t the only thing that had promise, she thought as she rolled over to face him with some difficulty. After having resigned herself to enduring a political marriage, to suddenly find herself loved by this tender, caring man and bearing his child was the answer to a prayer she hadn’t known she had.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Daniel and Judith had promised each other not to work on Firstday, and Judith was finding it surprisingly easy to keep that promise. They had started the morning with a leisurely exploration of each other in bed, then an equally leisurely breakfast. The time they’d spent with the refugees filling the Arl of Denerim’s estate had been far less leisurely—it was chaotic and noisy, but there was such good cheer as the children opened the gifts Daniel and Judith had chosen for them. Many of the refugees were hoping to return to their homes in the country in the spring, but others were trying to find homes in the city and saving up for some of the new residences being built where the darkspawn had destroyed older buildings; Daniel and Judith had given pouches of coin to each family, hoping to ease the process for as many as they could.

Judith glanced out the window at the sky. It looked as though there was time for a late lunch before she had to dress for the small party at the palace this evening. She caught Daniel lounging on the settee in their room, going over some reports on the status of the sewers he was having built in the alienage.

“I thought we said no work.” She plucked the papers from his hand, grinning.

“It was just for a minute,” he protested. 

“It was your rule,” she reminded him. 

“Then don’t leave me alone so long.” He took her hand, pulling her down onto his lap. Their mouths met in a slow, exploring kiss that might have seriously altered the afternoon’s plans if there hadn’t been a knock at the door.

Daniel grumbled, getting up to go answer the knock. A nondescript man in Denerim livery stood there, holding a very dirty paper-wrapped parcel. 

“Special delivery for the missus, guv,” said a familiar voice.

“Rook! Where does this come from?”

“Little place out west. In the Frostbacks.”

Daniel immediately thought of that squalid, frozen little village and of the terrible people who had run Judith off. “I don’t know if she wants it.”

“Trust me, guv. She wants it.”

“Thank you, Rook.” He dug in his pockets for a sovereign, handing it over. “For your trouble.”

“No trouble for you, ser.”

Daniel had hardly taken the package before the other man had disappeared down the hall. Turning back into the room, Daniel carried the package over to Judith. 

“What’s this?”

“I’m told it comes from … your village.” 

Her hands stilled on the wrapping. “Are we sure it isn’t some kind of poison?”

“The messenger was trustworthy.”

Judith glanced up at him, seeming satisfied by what she saw in his face. She turned back to the package, carefully burning through the strings with a touch of her finger and unfolding the paper. A scrawled note fell to the floor as she lifted a scratched and gouged rattle in her hand.

Daniel picked up the note, handing it to her.

“’Dear Judith,’” she read, “’This may be the only chance I’ll ever have to write you. I walked all the way to Orzammar to find someone who could write this for me. They’re more friendly than usual here, and willing to do anything for you. I am so proud of all you have accomplished. The rest of the village may not understand. Your mother was unhinged by losing her babies to magic, and I think did something to keep from having more. I wish I could have helped her. You see, I am the one who brought magic into the village. My wife, your grandmother, was a mage. Beautiful and strong and powerful; strong enough to hide what she was. She made this rattle for you when you were born; I think she knew that you had inherited her magic. Perhaps things might have been different for you if she’d still been alive when your magic appeared. I wish I could have fought for you then, but I was not strong enough to protect you from the whole village. You were better off in the Tower. Safer. But I have missed you every day, just as I miss your grandmother. Her name was also Judith. Whatever else happens, know that I love you. Your grandfather, Gordon.’” Judith’s voice was strained and husky with sorrow by the time she finished reading, and a tear slid down her cheek, narrowly missing landing on the paper. She lifted the rattle, looking at it more closely. What Daniel had taken to be scratches began to glow under Judith’s fingers, and beautiful music began to play as she turned the rattle. 

They were silent for a long moment, listening.

“Daniel …”

“Yes, love.” He sat down next to her, taking her hand. 

“It would be a shame not to be able to use this.”

“So it would. Maybe we could give it to Alistair and Anora’s baby.”

“No.” Judith shook her head, still staring at the carvings. “But maybe … maybe we could adopt a child someday.”

“Maybe we could.” He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. Judith rested her head on his shoulder. They had come so far from where they started. It didn’t matter what journeys their lives would take them on, he thought, as long as they’d be traveling together.


End file.
